


Sundown

by MindfulWrath



Series: The Rise and Fall [5]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Cornerstone, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mind Control, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, tie-in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-17 23:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3547511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulWrath/pseuds/MindfulWrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a character from fiction appears in reality, Rythian begins to question everything he thought he knew--and once the questions are asked, the answers begin to unravel every carefully woven lie he's told himself.</p><p>This essentially branches off from Cornerstone canon at Week 6. It will occasionally include canon events that occurred after this point, but these are more of a convenience than an attempt to adhere to canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Revisions

He thought he was dreaming, at first.

A dream would have made a great deal of sense; where else but a dream would a character from fiction stride confidently from the woods—well, _amble_ confidently from the woods—and clap a flesh-and-blood hand on the shoulder of his oldest friend.

Where else but a dream would this fictional person then proclaim, in a tired drawl that rolled gravel-rough over half-bared teeth:

"The hell've you been doin' here, Sjin? This isn't proper dirt-production. What're you using all this dirt for, farming? _Farming,_ Sjin? Really? God, I'm just—I'm disappointed in you, Sjin, I'm real disappointed. I didn't raise you to _farm_ on quality dirt. Ugh. This is just . . . this is a disgrace."

Sjin stared at him, mouth gaping, eyes wide and gleaming with tears. Crickets and distant machinery filled the evening quiet, keeping it a hair's breadth from silence. Sjin was trembling. The whole world seemed to be holding its breath.

"I. . . ." Sjin began, his voice barely a croak in the back of his throat. "I . . . didn't know you'd . . . be coming round."

The fictional man scoffed, draping his whole arm over Sjin's trembling shoulders. "What, you think I'd leave you here to do all this on your own? Hell no, GI Joe. This . . . _thing_ you've got goin' on here, it's got potential. C'mon, half the world covered in sand, the market for dirt's gonna _skyrocket._ We could be millionaires! You're wasting your potential here, Sjin, all this _farming_ stuff. And whatever else all this stuff is, I don't really care, it looks dumb. I mean, c'mon, Sjin! I know you can't do anything without me keeping an eye on you. You really thought I was just gonna sit back and go on a friggin' vacation while you ruined the best business opportunity that's ever happened?"

"N-no," Sjin squeaked. "No, I didn't."

Without warning, he flung his arms around the fictional man and squeezed so tightly his elbows creaked.

"Hey, okay, Sjin, what's with the dramatics?"

"I thought you were dead!" he exclaimed, his voice muffled.

"Pfft, c'mon, do I look dead to you?"

"No more than usual," Sjin answered, sniffling.

"Hey, whoah, rude."

Sjin dissolved into the space between laughter and tears, and Sips stood patting him on the back and rolling his eyes, muttering what passed for condolences in a lethargic monotone while the entirety of the community descended upon him like children upon a new puppy.

Rythian had thought he was dreaming, at first, and he wished he were dreaming shortly thereafter.

It would have been easier, at least, than admitting what this miraculous resurrection meant for his reality.

* * *

 

"Dead men don't walk," he muttered under his breath, following a barely-visible line of footprints through the underbrush, "and miracles don't happen."

No one had noticed him slip away in the excitement; Sips had demanded everyone's attention simply by being there, and he certainly hadn't seemed to mind being in the spotlight; rather, he'd taken the opportunity to immediately begin bossing the rest of the crew around. Rythian had melted back into the shadows and slunk away like a kicked cat, while his mind was rather more in the state of a kicked hornet's nest.

"Fiction," he spat to himself, _"fiction._ What's the line between fiction and lies? _Are you role-playing again, Rythian?_ Christ. As if he wasn't."

The footprints continued back into the woods, into areas darker and wilder, beyond where greedy axes had cleared the trunks and curious fingers had plucked the underbrush. The forest floor transitioned from mud to heavy leaf-litter, and the footprints vanished into the muddle.

Rythian cursed under his breath, kneeling on the moist ground in an attempt to regain the trail. Some kind of insect landed on his temple and crawled about for a moment; he brushed it away irritably, but only seconds later it was back, tickling against his skin.

"God dammit," he hissed, swatting at the side of his face. The tickling did not cease, even when he pressed his hand to the spot. He frowned and shut his eyes, holding his fingers against his tingling skin.

 _"Oh,"_ he breathed, opening his eyes. The greenish light cast from them had taken on a bluer tint. "Isn't _that_ interesting."

Carefully, he got to his feet. With half-lidded eyes, hands outstretched and fingers spread, he set off again, stepping as lightly as a panther on the hunt. The tingle against his skin grew stronger as he followed it, spreading across his face and fingers, escalating from a faint sensation to a definitive _itch._ The air smelled of smoke and ozone, of burnt hair and charred flesh.

When he finally looked up, when the sensation of unspent magic against his skin had grown unbearably unpleasant, he found himself standing on the edge of an enormous ashen circle, burned deep into the forest floor and still smoldering. Faint runes could be seen delineating four concentric rings inside the circle, letting off a sickly glow in the forest half-light. In the center of the circle, glowing cherry red and smoking profusely, was a pair of footprints.

Rythian stared for a long moment, taking in every detail he could discern. The itch of magic was still present, although less prominent now that he was not focusing on it. The smells, however, were almost overpowering, and he pulled his mask up to cover his nose.

"Horrible, isn't it."

Rythian jumped, spinning in midair and drawing his sword, sinking into a fighting stance the moment he landed. Perched in a massive oak not thirty feet away was some form of creature, humanoid but distinctly _other._ Half-real tails waved tranquilly behind them, and there was an impression of vulpine ears atop their head.

They were smiling.

"Who are you?" Rythian demanded.

"That's hardly important, don't you think? You can put the sword away, by the way. You can't possibly kill me."

"I'll take my chances."

The smile widened, showcasing more teeth than any humanoid had a right to.

"You're clever. I like you." They leaned backwards to hang upside-down by their knees from the branch. Their head twisted a full hundred and eighty degrees until they were looking at Rythian again. The smile, at least, had shrunk to more reasonable proportions.

Rythian took a half-step back, shaken but determined not to show it.

"I ask again: who are you?"

"And I'll say again: it's not important. I could be a god. I could be a demon. I could even be a nightmare." A smile flicked across their face like lightning. "But most likely, I'm lying."

"Very helpful, thank you," Rythian responded dryly. He gestured to the charred circle. "Is this yours?"

"Mine? Oh, goodness, no," the humanoid answered. They unhooked their knees from the branch and drifted to the ground, landing on their toes as if they weighed no more than a dandelion seed. "I wouldn't have put it out in the woods like this, if it were mine. No one would ever _see_ it here." The lightning grin again. "Except, of course, _you,_ my little enderborn."

Rythian stiffened, his hand clenching white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword.

 _That's not real,_ he thought frantically, _it never happened. How do they know, it was a_ **_story,_ ** _dammit, a_ **_story,_ ** _how could they_ **_know?_ **

"Don't call me that," he snapped.

"Why, are you going to _do_ something about it?"

He grit his teeth. "I would prefer not to," he answered.

The being laughed. "How courteous! I appreciate that, Rythian." They must have heard his sharp intake of breath, because they continued, "Yes, I know your name. I know a great _deal_ about you, Rythian. About all of your silly friends, too. If you can call them friends. I see why Ridge likes to play with you, you are so very _entertaining."_

Rythian frowned. "Ridge?" he asked. Ridge was—yes, the godlike being, neither benevolent nor outright malicious, who liked to play games with people's lives—and he was real? He was more than just a character dreamt up for the sake of a story?

The hornet's nest in Rythian's head kicked up its buzzing another notch. The story would have to be revised.

They tilted their head to the side, regarding him closely. "You _have_ been busy, haven't you," they commented. "What a nice little world you must live in, hm? What a peaceful, sweet, _boring_ little world."

Rythian shook his head. Their voice was starting to grate on his ears, starting to rake claws against his skull as though trying to get in.

"That's . . . not important," he managed. "What is this—thing?" He gestured again to the circle. The glow of the runes, and the footprints, had not faded in the slightest.

"You're a clever thing," the being responded. "Figure it out. Go on. I'll wait." They made a shooing motion at him with one pale, clawed hand.

After a deep breath and a moment of forced calm, Rythian turned his attention to the charred and smoldering circle.

"It looks like a summoning circle," he said, "roughly. The outer two rings seem standard for . . . Diabolus-class summons?"

"Ooh, very good. And what about the inner two, hm?"

Rythian peered at the inner two circles. Looking at the runes made his eyes hurt, as though something was pushing them back into his head. He looked away and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I don't know. I've never seen anything like them before."

"Tsk, tsk. And you were doing so _well._ Come along, now. Quitters never win."

"And what, exactly, am I competing for?" Rythian snapped.

The being was suddenly inches behind him, their lips brushing his ear, their breath cold against his skin. Something sharp was pressing between his shoulder-blades.

"Come along now, Rythian," they murmured. "Don't disappoint me."

The urge to stab the _thing_ standing so close behind him was almost irresistible. His arm was twitching with the desire to reverse his grip and plunge his blade into whatever flesh he could reach. He only refrained from the attempt because this being—whatever they were—had traveled thirty feet in the blink of an eye, which meant they could certainly put a point-blank blade through his heart in the time it took him to shift his grip. So once again he grit his teeth, breathed as deeply as he dared, and looked back to the circle.

"The outer is . . . a reversal, I think," he muttered. The pressure against his eyes was sending needles of pain all through his sinuses. "And the last . . . the center one . . . _agh,_ it's. . . ."

Something warm was trickling down his cheeks. He smelled blood.

"Yes?" the being prompted.

"A—a glamour?"

"Very good, Rythian!" they exclaimed. The presence at his back vanished and he sagged, putting a hand to his eyes. The commotion in his head was so loud it had set his ears to ringing.

"Wh-why?" he managed, fumbling backwards until he found a tree to set his back against. He wiped the blood from his cheeks and his eyes and peered around, looking for the being. They were back up on their tree branch, grinning down at him.

"Oh, I just thought you'd find it interesting. I wasn't sure you'd have the motivation to work it out on your own. You've been _awfully_ lax about that, lately."

"Who _are_ you?" Rythian snarled. "What do you _want?"_

"Me? Oh, I mostly came here because of this." They gestured to the circle. "But come on, enderborn, you've worked out what the rings are for, now finish up. What did the circle _do,_ hm?"

"You are absolutely _infuriating,_ do you know that?"

"Don't call me names, Rythian, you'll make me want to prove myself." Something in their countenance twisted, and they were suddenly grotesque, a nightmare-creature whose resemblance to a human only made them more horrifying. Their voice, when they spoke again, was a mangled husk of a familiar sound. _"I'll prove I have much better names for you to call me."_

And just as suddenly, they were as they had been, grinning with only a few too many teeth, idly kicking their legs over the edge of the branch. Rythian stood, his heart in his throat, his breath coming quick and frantic, his palms sweating. He swallowed, not daring to take his eyes off of the creature in the tree.

"All right," he croaked.

"Good! Now, the business at hand: the circle. Time's a-wasting, hm?"

Rythian tried to calm his breathing and his pounding heart, tried to focus through the buzzing in his head and the spinal instinct screaming at him to run.

"The reverse of a summons means that something was sent," he concluded slowly. "Since it looks like a Diabolus, most likely it came from the Nether."

"Yes, yes, now we're getting somewhere."

"And the glamour—whatever it was has been disg— _Sips."_

"He's got it!" the being cried jubilantly, clapping their hands. "Very _good,_ Rythian! I told you you were clever."

Rythian was already running, sprinting back towards the floating island, towards the farm and the settlement and the _thing_ wearing a dead man's skin and walking so innocuously amongst his friends.

Something hit him in the back, hard, and he fell, tumbling over himself before coming to rest face-down in the leaf-litter.

"I didn't say you could go," the being said placidly; less than ten feet away, by the sound of them. Rythian shoved himself back to his feet, but there was a sharp strike to the back of his leg and he found himself kneeling, a clawed hand digging sharp points of pain into the flesh beneath his chin. The being stared down at him, eyes sparkling, their grin nearly splitting their face in half.

"What do you _want?"_ Rythian growled, scarcely able to move his jaw for fear of the sharp claws pressed against it.

"Want, Rythian? I want your fear. I want to see the look on your face. Your _whole_ face."

A second hand reached up and hooked a claw under his mask. He jerked, trying to get away, but the claws beneath his chin dug in sharply, drawing pinpricks of blood. The other hand pulled down, gently, and drew the mask away from his face.

The being tilted their head, examining him. They smiled.

"That's what I wanted," they purred. "That's the face."

Rythian gaped at them. He couldn't breathe, he was sure his heart had stopped beating. The buzzing in his head had risen so loud he couldn't think—mostly because there was no other buzzing.

Someone was looking directly at him—at his entire, horrible, _traitorous_ face—and nothing was happening.

"What _are_ you?" he breathed, trembling, frozen and numb.

"And that's the _question_ I was waiting for," they declared triumphantly. "And I'll answer you, Rythian, when you tell me: what are _you?"_

 _Human,_ the hornet's nest in his mind was screaming, _I'm human, I'm just like all the others! It was a story, a_ **_story,_ ** _none of it was_ **_real!_ ** _For the love of God, don't make me go back there!_

But he could see his face reflected in the being's eyes: the distorted black maw, gaping and filled with violet sparks; and he could feel the Void in him, cold in the hollows of his bones, patient and ancient and _hungry;_ and the hornets in his head burst forth from a thousand locked cabinets, spilling themselves like confetti across the valleys of his mind; and he found that the line between _fiction_ and _lies_ was broad and dark and _indisputable._

"I am the Enderborn," he pronounced softly, though he had no lips to form the words, though his voice hummed with the cold undertones of _else._

The being grinned, wider and wider, leaning in until their lips brushed his ear again.

"Correct," they murmured. "And now, to answer your question." They twisted into that grotesque mockery of a human form once more, surging over and behind him, and their voice was like an army of spiders swarming into his ear.

_"I'm the monster under the bed, my pet. And if you tell anyone you saw me, I'm going to come out."_

There were teeth against his ear, his cheek; hundreds of claws from dozens of hands were pricking at him all over; he could smell blood and rot and despair; there was cold breath on the back of his neck and something was touching his throat.

_"Run."_

And Rythian ran.

 


	2. Particulars

Lomadia was aware that something was wrong, and was immensely frustrated by the fact that she had yet to figure out what, exactly, it was. The precarious equilibrium of their little community had been upset, and there was no way of knowing where—or if—it would settle again. Sjin certainly seemed to be over the moon about the most recent addition to their party, and neither Lomadia nor, evidently, anyone else, had had the heart to bring up the obvious set of questions to him.

"Let him be," Strippin had suggested. "It's the first time he's been happy since we got here. We'll figure all this shit out later. Or without him. Whichever."

She would have been content to leave it at that, had not Rythian shot like an arrow from the darkness of the woods, wild-eyed and breathless, and fixated his attention so pointedly upon Sips that it was a wonder the man didn't catch fire. Even that, she would have been content to put aside until things had settled, had not Nano stepped hurriedly into the line of fire with something akin to panic on her face.

"Oy, Rythian, here's an idea. Let's let the lovebirds have some alone-time, shall we? I'm sure Strippin and Benji would be glad to have you on board for a while. Who knows, maybe they'll actually get something done!"

Slowly, Rythian's gaze shifted to Nano, and for a moment the wild intensity lingered. Then he seemed to soften, to turn from steel cable back to flesh, and he smiled half-heartedly.

"Sure," he acquiesced. When he turned to look for Strippin, his eyes were unfocused, and eventually Strippin had to take him by the elbow and physically lead him away.

Lomadia crossed to Nano, apprehension quickening her steps.

"What was all  _ that _ about?" she asked, watching Rythian's retreating form.

"I, er," Nano began, and folded her arms, looking away. "You know how he's been. That whole role-playing thing. I figure, maybe, if we can keep him away from Sips for a little while, he'll have time to adjust, right? Just don't want him . . . freaking out."

Lomadia raised an eyebrow. "D'you think that's likely, him freaking out?"

Nano shrugged. "I dunno. But just in case. Listen, me and Lalna could use some help with the jetpacks. Care to join us?"

"Sure," Lomadia replied, frowning. "Nano, is—is everything all right?"

"Is—? Yeah, no, everything's fine. Just a little worried, you know. Change is scary and all, right? C'mon, I think we're going to need a load of tin, and I'm sure we haven't got any."

Lomadia reached out and caught Nano's arm as she walked away.

"Oy. I'm serious.  _ Something's _ going on here, and I don't think it's good."

Nano tugged her arm out of Lomadia's grasp. "You probably shouldn't touch me," she admonished. "Might get fluxed."

"Nano."

"I—I'm sure it's nothing. It's just sort of—I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop, right? It's just nerves. I'm not used to things going right!"

Chewing her lip, Lomadia considered pushing the issue—but they were stood outside, in the midst of a bustle of activity, and Nano looked like she might snap in half if a single thread of further tension was applied to her.

"Right," Lomadia sighed, "tin. I suppose I'll start looking for that, shall I?"

Nano sagged visibly with relief. "Yeah, that'd be wonderful. I'll be up in the main house, if you need me."

Lomadia nodded. "Will do. See you in a bit."

"Mm-hm!" Nano replied, overly chipper, and hurried away.

After a moment's thought, Lomadia cursed under her breath and headed for the communal mine.

* * *

 

The darkness was strange, so far down, thick and cold and  _ breathing. _ It was old and wild, so long undisturbed that it kicked up like silt as Lomadia picked her way through it. Her torch seemed to be shrinking from it, seemed to draw in on itself until its flame was little more than a single droplet of yellow light, cowering in its own glow.

It was the kind of darkness, Lomadia thought, that did not  _ want _ to be disturbed.

"Dammit," she muttered to herself. "Where the  _ fuck _ am I?"

Something skittered behind her. She whipped around and saw only darkness. Her torch flickered uneasily. Carefully, she pressed her back to the wall. Her breathing was loud as a hurricane in the silence.

"Fuck," she hissed. "Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck. _ Brilliant idea, Lom. Let's go to the center of the fucking earth  _ alone _ with  _ one damn torch. _ Genius."

The skittering came again, and she nearly climbed the wall behind her. Likely she would have, if it had been less sheer, or she had been able to find better purchase against it. As it was, she had to make do with pressing herself to the cold rock and cursing some more.

"Nano?" she said, tapping her com. "Nano, can you hear me?"

There was only static in reply.

"God damn  _ rocks," _ she grumbled.  _ "Hate _ fucking  _ rocks." _

This time, the skittering was closer. A massive shape moved in the darkness just outside the range of her torch. Lomadia clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream, hoping against all hope that  _ whatever it was _ out there was as blind as the darkness.

Her heartbeat was thunderous, the hand holding her torch trembled with wild abandon. Something smelled of death and she could  _ swear _ she heard footsteps.

A hand shot from the darkness and clutched her shoulder, and she screamed as a rotten face lurched into the sphere of her torchlight, skin pulled back taut from its yellow and bloodied teeth. She jumped back, kicking at the creature with all the strength in her limbs. Its body snapped clean at the waist, but it didn't let go of her. Its ragged fingernails were digging into her skin and it was keening horribly. Lomadia kicked it again.

Another hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back. She thrashed, trying to escape the putrid grip, but lost her footing in the process and toppled to the floor, taking her attackers with her. The torch bounced away and went out, leaving her alone with the darkness.

Something bit into her shoulder. She screamed again, scrambling for the sword on her hip. Something with pincers struck a slender leg down through her abdomen, pinning her in place. She slammed a forearm against the limb and snapped it clean off, but the biting teeth tore a chunk from her neck and suddenly there was blood everywhere, and the sound of skittering surrounded her, and there were more hands and teeth and pincers and claws, and something tore her arm clean off, rending muscle and tendon and skin, cracking bone and spewing blood. She could no longer scream, could no longer fight against the horde of monstrosities tearing her apart.

Alone in the darkness, terrified and in agony, Lomadia died.

* * *

 

With a gasp, she sat bolt-upright in bed, tumbling almost immediately to the floor, where she curled up and shook, dry-heaving, clutching her right arm so hard it made her knuckles pop.

"Lom? Lom!" Someone was at her side, a small hand pressed to her back. "Oh my God, Lom, what happened?"

She could only shake her head. Tears were rolling down her face, and she didn't trust herself to open her mouth without screaming.

"Okay, all right, you're okay. You're here, all right? Not dead. You're fine."

"I am  _ not," _ she snapped, and had to be sick again, although there was nothing much in her to be sick with.

"I'm sorry," Nano replied, "okay, I'm sorry, you're right, that was stupid."

Lomadia only shook her head again. Phantom pains were swarming under her skin, and she couldn't close her eyes for the darkness that waited for her there.

"I hate it," she declared thickly. "I hate it."

"I know. It's the worst. It's really the worst. What d'you need me to do? Anything?"

She shivered. "Just—stay. For a bit. And—a torch."

"Got it. Back in a tick." Nano got to her feet and hurried out. Lomadia curled up as tightly as she could and shivered again; this time, the convulsions persisted into a constant trembling.

Nano's return was heralded by the sound of running feet, which made Lomadia recoil slightly. The smooth, strong wood of the torch she was handed more than made up for it, though, and the smell of burning wood and tar was soothing.

"Why've we got to remember?" she moaned, sitting back with her knees pulled up to her chest. Nano settled beside her in a similar position.

"Don't know," she answered. "It's awful." And then, after a brief pause, "Did you lose much? Should we get some people together and go looking?"

"No," Lomadia snapped,  _ "God, _ no. Wall that place off. For good." An especially powerful shiver ran through her, and she clenched the torch more tightly. "I'll be happy if I never have to go underground again."

"I'll make your jetpack first," Nano assured her. "Skies only for you, from now on."

Lomadia snorted. "Yeah. Then at least if I die, it'll be quick."

Nano only leaned against her, and stayed by her side until the trembling stopped.

* * *

 

When night fell, she found that the darkness was intolerable, and so went up to the weapons room, which was constantly lit by the fires of the smeltery. Even banked as they were for the night, they still let off a cherry-red glow, and the room smelled of iron and coal.

She almost didn't see Rythian. It was only his eyes, faint blue-green sparks in the shadows, that betrayed his presence.

"Allo," she said, softly, so as not to wake the sleepers below. She settled in the opposite corner from Rythian and pulled her knees to her chest.

"Hi," he replied, just as quietly. "You died today." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. 'S bad for your sleep-schedule, that."

"I know."

"You too, huh?"

"Not recently."

She paused for a long while, taking in Rythian's appearance—the hunch of his shoulders, the bags under his eyes, the clench of his jaw.

"Something's wrong," she said. He glanced at her, then returned his eyes to the fires of the smeltery.

"That's an understatement."

"It's something to do with Sips, isn't it."

He let out a short bark of laughter. "That isn't Sips."

Lomadia hesitated, biting her lip. "Rythian, you  _ do _ know that Sips has . . . always been real. You know that, right?"

"I don't care," he retorted. "It isn't Sips. I don't know why it's here, but it was sent from the Nether, and it has a glamour on it. It's  _ for _ something. I just haven't figured out what."

"Sent," Lomadia repeated. "You mean . . . Xephos isn't dead."

"Did you think he was?"

"Um, yeah. Pretty sure we all thought you'd, y'know, killed him."

"If I'd killed him, I wouldn't have had to divorce our entire dimension from the Nether, and I would have walked home."

She felt the blood drain from her face. "But . . . we've made a portal. To the—to the Nether."

"Different Nether."

"What d'you mean,  _ different Nether? _ There's only one!"

"That's so wrong I don't even know where to start. It's a different Nether. Trust me."

"Why?" she blurted.

He regarded her coolly. "Can you think of anything better to do?"

She thought. "Not at the moment, no."

"Fair enough. I need you to help me kill the thing in Sips's skin."

_ "What?" _

"I need you to help me kill the thing in Sips's skin."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's  _ Sips, _ and he hasn't  _ done _ anything!"

"Do you want to give it the chance?"

"I don't want to  _ murder _ him, that's for damn sure."

Rythian shrugged. "Fine. If it kills me, try to keep it from killing anyone else."

"You're  _ not _ killing Sips."

"That's accurate. The thing I'm going to kill isn't Sips."

"You  _ can't." _

"Watch me," he snarled, flowing to his feet, and for a moment his shadow seemed to swell and distort before settling into itself.

Lomadia stood as well, moving to block the doorway.

"You'll have to go through me," she asserted, staring him down.

He held her gaze for a painfully long time, then sank back to the floor, mild as a scolded dog.

"All right," he said softly, leaning against the black bricks of the smeltery. He closed his eyes and sighed. "All right."

After nearly a minute, Lomadia allowed herself to sit, although she did not move from the doorway.

She kept her eyes on Rythian for the rest of the night, and kept her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword.

 


	3. The God from the Machine

Divine intervention was not something Trottimus had ever expected to encounter in the wild. Certainly, he expected it when he  _ asked _ for it—but being struck by godly inspiration like a bolt from the blue was not a situation he had ever anticipated finding himself in.

"We've got to build a hand," he blurted.

"Flippers ain't doin' it for you anymore, mate?" Smiffy asked, looking up from his work affixing another severed head to their macabre trophy wall.

"I haven't  _ got  _ flippers, you twat," he shot back.

_ "Twaaaaaat!" _ Ross cried, circling overhead like some kind of monstrous seagull as he built the walls another level higher.

"You're a twat!" Smiffy shot back at him, glaring.

"We've got to build a golden hand," Trott insisted.

"I'll give you a golden hand, mate," Smiffy leered.

"One more fucking comment like that, and I'm going to chuck you off this fucking island. I'm being  _ serious." _

"Ooh, he's  _ serious, _ that's a new one."

"Trott's serious?" Ross called down. "What? No! Impossible!"

"Go fuck yourself, mate," Trott snapped. "We're building a golden hand."

"Yeah? I think  _ you're _ building a golden hand, mate," Smiffy countered.

"Like you've got anything better to do?"

"Yeah mate, I could be stabbing myself in the eyes with splinters."

_ "Oh!  _ Banter! Archbishop of Banterbury, he is!"

_ "Shut the fuck up, Ross!" _ Trott yelled.

"Oy," Ross returned, "if you want me to give you a golden handie, mate, you'd best put a little more effort into buttering me up."

"I didn't ask you to build anything, you twat!"

"Oh! Who's the twat now, Ross?" Smiffy demanded.  _ "Who's the twat now, you twat!" _

"Right, like  _ you're _ going to build it. It'll look like shit, mate."

"It'll look like fuckin' marble if  _ you _ build it."

"He's got you there, mate," Trott pointed out.

Ross shrugged. "Fine. Build your shit hand."

"More like a piss hand, mate, on account of it being gold."

"Piss-hand. Hah. Oy, Trott, how about I build it out of marble and then Smiffy pisses on it 'til it looks golden?"

"I'll do it. I'll do it for free, mate."

"Fine, I'll do it myself," Trott grumbled. "Plenty of gold in the Mile-High Club, anyway."

"Oy, what? What'd you say about the Mile-High Club, mate?"

"What's he saying about the Mile-High Club? Don't you touch that! Don't you  _ touch _ it!"

"Fuck off, Ross, build your damn walls."

"I will not! I won't do it!"

Trott folded his arms. "If you don't want me taking apart the Mile-High Club, then you're coming with me to get gold."

"No!" Ross declared petulantly. "I don't  _ want _ to go mining!"

"Why mine it, mate? We'll just steal everyone else's like we always do," Smiffy pointed out.

"Oh," Ross said. "Yeah, all right then."

Shaking his head, Trott grumbled, "Fucking twats," and stalked away.

There was bound to be gold  _ somewhere _ in the vicinity, and he felt that if he didn't build a gigantic golden hand before sunset, he was going to  _ die. _

Divine inspiration, he decided, was fucking  _ awful. _

* * *

 

"All right, Trott," Alsmiffy declared, folding his arms, "you've got your fucking golden hand,  _ now _ what?"

Trottimus stared blankly at the enormous gleaming construction before him.

"I dunno," he answered.

"You don't  _ know?" _ Ross demanded, incredulous. "He doesn't  _ know!" _

"Look, it wasn't my idea!"

"Then whose fucking idea  _ was _ it, mate? 'Cause it wasn't mine, and it sure as hell wasn't Ross's!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means you're an idiot, mate. And if you'd built it, it'd be sixteen times bigger and made of marble."

Ross considered this. "Yeah, right, okay, that's fair." He turned to Trott, scowling. "Right mate, question still stands. Whose idea was the giant fuckin' hand?"

"Mine."

All three of them whipped around. Reclining in the palm of the golden hand, one leg thrown lazily over the thumb, his chin propped up on his knuckles, was Ridge. He waved.

"Hello, boys. Remember all those favors you owe me?"

They glanced at each other.

"No?" Ross guessed.

Ridge laughed. "Of course not. But I do, and that's really all that matters."

"We don't owe you shit, mate," Smiffy asserted.

Raising an eyebrow, Ridge asked, "Don't you?"

"Yeah, no, pretty sure we don't," Trottimus confirmed.

"Really. Let me ask you a question, Trott. Who do you think  _ Legit Builders _ is, really?"

Somewhere behind all his rough brown skin, Trottimus blanched.

"It's Nigel, innit?"

Ridge turned his gaze on Alsmiffy and grinned. "Is it? Awfully hard to kill, that Nigel, isn't he. Awfully funny how you three keep on asking for things even  _ after _ attempting to murder the people you're asking. Nice touch with the anthrax, by the way. I had to stay home from school with the sniffles."

Alsmiffy frowned. "You go to school?"

Ridge laughed again. "Point is, boys, you owe me, big time. And I'm calling it in. Nice job with the hand, by the way. Not quite what I expected, but that's what I get for being unclear, I guess."

_ "That was you?" _ Trott cried. "You put that—that  _ thing _ in my head?"

"I might have submitted a polite request, yes," Ridge admitted.

"You call that a  _ request?" _

"I do," Ridge answered, his eyes glittering. "Would you like to see an order?"

"No," Ross blurted, but at the same time, Smiffy declared, "Yeah, do your fuckin' worst, mate."

"Shut up, you idiot!" Trott snapped.

"No, no, he has a point," Ridge conceded. "Ross, break Alsmiffy's arm."

There was a blur of motion and a horrible  _ crack, _ and Alsmiffy screamed. Ross staggered back in horror, staring at his own hands as though they'd suddenly morphed into thorn-studded tentacles.

"What the  _ fuck, _ mate?" Alsmiffy demanded, clutching at his left arm, which hung limply at his side. His already green complexion had taken on a sickly pallor.

"I didn't—that wasn't—that wasn't  _ me, _ mate," Ross stammered, his voice high and panicked.

"All right, we've got it, that's enough," Trott said to Ridge, an edge of pleading in his voice.

"Wrong," Ridge replied. "It's enough when I  _ say _ it's enough. Ross, draw your sword, please."

There was a scraping metallic sound, and Ross let out a frantic, mad peal of laughter. The iron sword—the Good Sword—gleamed in his hand, viciously sharp, its point drawing figure-eights in the air between Ross and Alsmiffy.

"Christ, Ross, put that fucking thing away!" Smiffy barked.

_ "I'm not doing it, mate!" _ he cried desperately. Tears were welling up in his eyes and he was trembling like pudding in an earthquake.

"Ridge, please, stop it," Trottimus entreated. "We've got it, all right? We'll do whatever you want."

"Trott, one more word and I'll have you rip your own tongue out," Ridge informed him calmly. "Ross?"

"Please, no, I can't, I  _ can't!" _

"Oh, hush, of course you can. Kill Smiffy. Messily, if you would."

"Don't—mate,  _ don't!" _

But Ross was already moving, flicking the sword through the air with more skill and grace than he'd ever possessed before, and he was screaming in horror as the blade bit down on Alsmiffy's broken arm. He was begging as he carved bloody chunks from the other's legs, and sobbing openly as he drove the sword six times into Alsmiffy's chest. The body fell, and Ross crumpled. The sword clattered on the wooden floor and Ross was laughing, digging his fingernails into his arms hard enough to draw blood.

"Jesus  _ Christ!" _ Trott screamed, staggering back from the unfolded horror.

Ridge scowled down at him. "What did I say?"

"N-no, no, Ridge, please, I didn't mean—!"

He sighed and clicked his fingers impatiently. "Tongue. Out. Now, please."

Before he knew what was happening, his hand was jammed inside his own mouth, fingers digging sharply into the wet muscle of his tongue, and he let out a muffled scream and tried to fight, but his body would not obey him. His arm pulled, a sharp yank accompanied by a horrific  _ ripping _ sound and a white-hot pain, and his mouth filled up with blood and he dropped to his knees, gagging and gasping for breath while blood poured from his mouth.

"Smiffy," Ridge ordered, distantly, "get back in here, please."

_ "No!" _ Ross gasped, and dissolved into another fit of manic laughter.

"We get it, Christ, just stop!" Smiffy cried.

"Ross?" Ridge purred.

"Stop it! Stop it, right now! You leave him be, he's been through enough!"

"Smiffy, do me a favor and shut your fucking mouth. Ross, pick the sword up."

_ "No!" _ he screamed, but Trott could hear the scrape of steel on wood. Ross was still laughing, although it was trending more towards the territory of hysterics with every breath.

"Poor Trott's choking on his own blood over there. Be a dear and cut his head off."

Trott cried out, although it was more of a terrified gurgle. He tried to get to his feet, but slipped in the blood that had pooled beneath him. He tried to crawl away, but he was weak and dizzy and he really  _ was _ choking on his own blood. . . .

Ross was nearly shrieking with laughter, begging, crying empty protests and desperate apologies in a cracked and panicked voice even as he stalked inexorably towards Trottimus, the bloodied sword clenched in his trembling hand. Trott screamed, just once; there was a terrible flash of steel, and then darkness.

* * *

 

He woke with a cry in his bed, phantom pains throbbing in his neck and mouth. Distantly, he could still hear Ross, his mad laughter nearly indistinguishable from keening sobs. Very clearly, he heard Ridge state, "Trott. In here."

His feet carried him without his consent, and only moments later he was back in the horrible room of the Hand, looking down upon his own headless corpse, upon Smiffy's mutilated remains. Ross was curled on the floor, rocking back and forth and sobbing, while Smiffy knelt by his side, glaring daggers at Ridge.

Ridge, who had not so much as shifted from his casual lounge in the palm of the golden hand.

"Enough, all right?" Smiffy was saying, his voice thick. "Leave him out of this, he didn't  _ do _ nothing to you. You've made your point, I get it,  _ I'm sorry, _ just don't make him  _ kill _ anyone else, Christ's  _ sake!" _

Ridge raised an eyebrow. "Why, is this compassion I see? You've honestly managed to surprise me, Alsmiffy. Well done. Here I was, thinking you hated each other. But I guess when your  _ real _ family's dead, you'll take whatever you can get."

Smiffy tensed visibly, clenching his jaw, but said nothing. Ridge rolled his eyes.

"Oh, all  _ right," _ he sighed. "I think you've learned your lesson."

"What do you  _ want?" _ Alsmiffy growled.

"Glad you asked. I want you to build me a robot. A giant robot, specifically."

"You couldn't do that yourself?"

Ridge's eyes flashed. "Is this  _ really _ the time you want to be asking me questions?"

Smiffy gulped and lowered his gaze.

"That's what I thought. Robot. Giant. I'll put the specifications, oh,  _ here." _

Trottimus cried out, dropping to his knees—it felt as though a pickaxe had just hit him in the temple, and suddenly his head was swarming with schematics and plans.

"He's the best at communication. And I want you—all of you—to bear in mind that I am  _ politely _ requesting this, in return for all the favors I've done for you three. Because I  _ could _ order you to. And I'm choosing not to. And I think that's exceedingly  _ kind _ of me, don't you?"

"Super," Trott mumbled, shaking his head.

"Great. I'll give you, oh, let's say a month. I'm sure that'll be enough time, provided you don't slack off."

_ "Why?" _ Smiffy entreated. "Why're you  _ doing _ this?"

"Because I feel like it," Ridge replied. "Would you like to know what  _ else _ I feel like doing?"

"No!" he cried, almost in perfect unison with Trott.

"I think I might tell you anyway," Ridge mused. "Ross?"

_ "No! No, no! Please, God, no!" _

"Hats?"

The call was distant, mild; the voice was barely audible, but Ridge's head snapped up like it had been the sharp report of a gunshot.

"Aaaaand that's my cue to leave." He clicked his fingers again and pointed at Alsmiffy. "Giant robot. One month. Don't disappoint me, boys."

He rose into the air, up above the lip of the wall, his coat swirling around him; then, with a  _ bang _ like cannonfire, he was gone, and there was only the sound of Ross's helpless sobbing.

Trott felt, more than heard, Rythian enter the room behind him.

"Dare I ask," he said slowly, "what the hell happened in here?"

"Get out!" Alsmiffy snarled over his shoulder. There were tears on his face.

"You'd probably better leave, mate," Trott muttered vaguely. It was difficult to focus past all the urgent plans that had been injected into his head.

"O- _ kay," _ Rythian acknowledged, "I was never here."

He faded out, just as silently as he had arrived, and the three were alone again, alone with the Hand and the corpses and the smell of their own blood.

"I'm gonna kill him," Smiffy muttered darkly. "I'm gonna fuckin'  _ kill _ him."

"Shut up, Smiff," Trott snapped. "Go put Ross away and grab a pick. We're gonna need a shitload of iron."

Smiffy glared at him. "You're not gonna  _ do _ it," he demanded, incredulous.

"I am," Trott answered. "And I'm sure as  _ hell _ not gonna make him ask again."

Alsmiffy looked down at Ross, who had gone quiet and was now simply shivering in a ball on the floor.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him," Smiffy said again, and his words rang with the hollow certainty of a promise.

 


	4. Inner Demons

"He's upstairs again," Rythian commented, in the same vacant voice he'd been using for the past hour.

Strippin slammed his hammer down on the anvil, making it ring like a bell, and turned to glare at Rythian.

"All right, mate, I've had about as much of this as I can take. Would you  _ shut up _ about fuckin'  _ Sips?" _

Rythian laughed, a hollow sound. "That's not Sips," he said.

"No one  _ cares, _ mate. If you're gonna be useless, you could at  _ least _ do it, I dunno,  _ some-fuckin'-where else?" _

"He's not hurtin' anyone," Benji pointed out.

"Hurtin' my fuckin'  _ patience," _ Strippin growled, rolling some of the tension out of his shoulders. "Ryth, if all you're gonna do is sit about and  _ mutter, _ don't do it down here, right?"

"Don't call me that," Rythian snapped, suddenly sharp as a needle.

Strippin folded his arms and planted his feet, glaring down at the mage. "I think it's about time you left, mate. Find somebody else's base to mutter in."

"Er, Strippin, I'm not sure that's the best idea," Benji confessed.

"He stays down here I'm gonna break his fuckin' neck. You think that's a better idea?"

"No, but—look, I'll . . . how 'bout I take him down mining with me, right? I'm useless on my own anyway, prob'ly get myself killed. And we need the materials."

Strippin sighed through his nose, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Fine," he said at last, turning back to his anvil and the cooling steel blade thereon. "But if you get in  _ any _ trouble, you come back here. Got it?"

"Yeah, got it," Benji replied, already turning away. "C'mon, Rythian."

Rythian didn't so much stand as  _ flow _ to his feet. It was a swift movement, and Strippin, seeing it from the corner of his eye, instinctively shifted his grip on the hammer to better defend against an attack. Rythian's gaze flicked to him, just for a moment, and Strippin could have sworn that somewhere under that mask, he was smiling.

"If anything happens to Benji," Strippin threatened, "I will break every fuckin' bone in your body."

"I'll keep that in mind," Rythian replied, almost jovially, and slipped from the room, down the steep tunnel bored into the rock below.

Strippin managed to finish hammering the sword back into shape before anxiety overwhelmed him and he laid down his hammer, replacing it with said sword and jamming a steel helmet onto his head before stalking down into the tunnel after Rythian.

"Dammit," he grumbled under his breath, his steel-capped boots ringing against the stone floor. "Stupid fuckin' . . . fuck. You're an idiot, Strippin, y'know that? Yeah, let's send Benj off with the fuckin' maniac, great plan, what could  _ possibly _ go wrong?" He shook his head. "Fuck me. Overreactin' anyways. Prob'ly fine. Benji ain't  _ that _ useless. And Rythian ain't  _ that _ mad. Prob'ly."

As though the universe had been waiting specifically for those words to be uttered, a scream rang out from the darkness further down the tunnel. Strippin cursed and broke into a sprint, navigating purely by the echoes of the cry. It had been Benji—unequivocally Benji—a scream of pain and terror and he  _ should not have left him alone— _

Suddenly his feet were pinwheeling over empty air, and then he was plummeting into darkness, flailing wildly for  _ anything _ to save him from a swift-approaching death that he couldn't even see coming. He screamed, pain and terror and—

_ CRUNCH _

—sat bolt-upright in his bed at the house, sweating bullets and fairly  _ vibrating _ with the remembered force of impact.

"You fall down the chasm, too, then?"

Strippin looked to his left. Benji was sitting in the next bed over, likewise sheened with sweat, although looking rather more sheepish than terrified.

"God dammit, Benj," Strippin snapped.

Benji shrugged. "Sorry," he offered. "Not like I meant to fall down it, did I."

"You are bloody  _ useless," _ he accused, shaking his head. "You all right? Lose anything important?"

"Not really. I mean, unless you count Rythian."

"I don't."

"Just a pick and a helmet, then."

"Helmet's probably knackered after a fall like that. What d'you figure, two hundred yards? Three?"

Benji shrugged again, pushing himself out of bed as though he was made entirely of glass. "Dunno. Wasn't really payin' attention."

Strippin sighed, likewise levering himself to his feet. "Right. We'd probably better get back to the base, anyway. With our luck, it'll've burned down by now."

They tromped down the stairs, then made their way down the immensely long and—Strippin thought—unnecessarily rickety ladder to the ground far below the floating island. Sjin and Sips appeared to have begun work on some kind of log cabin just west of the little farm—rather, Sjin appeared to have begun work; Sips appeared to have constructed himself a chair and was making good use of it, calling out the occasional suggestion to Sjin as he worked.

"The hell's all this, then?" Strippin asked, approaching Sjin.

The farmer looked down from his perch atop a fresh-constructed wall and grinned. He was sweaty, grimy, and apparently delighted.

"Making a house for your mum. 'S gotta be bigger than the one up top, on account of she's a large lady."

"Big women, big money, big fun," Sips supplied.

"Hilarious," Strippin intoned. "Seriously, what's this s'posed to be?"

"Oh, leave 'em to it, Strippin," Benji said. "Not like it's our business anyway."

"Jesus, Benj, you wanna maybe back off? I'm  _ curious, _ fuck's sake."

"Sorry, Benji, I forgot. She's your mum too, isn't she?" Sjin jibed.

Benji sighed. "I'm goin' back to Railbase. See if I can get that machine working."

"You're no fun at  _ all," _ Sjin accused, grinning.

"Unlike his mom, right, Sjin?" Sips added. "Bet she's a—just a real fun lady."

"Oh, absolutely. And so flexible!"

Sips snorted. "Sure, yeah."

"I'm leaving," Strippin grumbled, turning his back on the pair and shaking his head.

He pulled up short when he saw Rythian, standing not thirty feet away, staring at Sips as though trying to bore a hole in him.

"Fuck's sake," Strippin cursed under his breath, marching up to Rythian. "Right, c'mon, you don't need to be out here, mate, get back inside."

"No," Rythian said.

"Yeah, sure," he grumbled. He put his palm on Rythian's chest and shoved. He nearly lost his footing when Rythian didn't so much as sway where he stood.

"You should probably go inside," Rythian suggested, his voice soft and distant. He had not taken his eyes off of Sips.

"You've got about ten seconds to quit bein' fuckin'  _ creepy, _ and then I'm  _ carryin' _ you back in over my shoulder."

"Strippin," Rythian stated quietly, "I am asking you nicely. Don't get in the way."

"Get in the way of  _ what? _ What the fuck're you on about?"

"I'm going to kill the thing in Sips's skin," he replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Like fuckin' hell, you are!" Strippin cried. Rythian took his eyes off of Sips, just for a moment, and Strippin kicked him in the back of the knee, hard. Rythian toppled and Strippin leapt on him, wrestling his hands behind his back and planting a knee at the base of his spine.

_ "Get off!" _ Rythian snarled, thrashing like a beached shark.  _ "Let go of me!" _

"You've gone  _ completely _ mad," Strippin retorted, "and you ain't killin'  _ anybody _ while I'm here!"

"Who's killing who, now?" Sjin asked, hopping down from his construction project.

"I wouldn't worry about it, it looks like just a—just a little, like, lovers' spat. I'd leave 'em to it, Sjin, don't worry about it."

_ "Shut up!" _ Rythian shot, making another bid to wriggle out of Strippin's grasp.

"Whoah, hey, rude much," Sips said. Ponderously, he got to his feet and draped an arm over Sjin's shoulder. "Who is this guy, anyway? Who does he think he is?"

"Sips," Strippin warned, "if I was you, I'd get the hell out of here."

"Pfft, what, like  _ that _ guy's gonna do anything? No way."

"Let me go," Rythian ordered. "Let me  _ go, _ that  _ isn't Sips!" _

There was movement to his right, and Strippin looked over just in time to see Lalna, Nano, and Lomadia emerging from one of the dozen mines scattered around the area. The look on Nano's face turned swiftly from confusion to fear. She pivoted on her heel and shoved Lalna, hard.

"Back," she ordered.

"What? But—"

"Back underground,  _ now!" _

"I didn't  _ do _ nuffink!"

_ "Lalna!" _

Rythian, still squirming underneath Strippin, didn't seem to have noticed the intrusion.

"Let me  _ go," _ he insisted. "Before that  _ thing _ kills someone, let me  _ go!" _

"Oh, God," Lomadia grumbled. "Rythian? Listen to me. We can talk about this, all right? Nobody's got to kill anybody. We're all rational people, here, we haven't got to do anything drastic."

_ "It. Isn't. Sips." _

"What's he on about, anyway?" Sjin inquired, leaning slightly against Sips. "I know a Sips when I see one, and this is definitely the genuine article."

"Oh, yeah," Sips agreed. "He did a whole inspection and everything."

"I was  _ very _ thorough."

"Quit  _ squirmin'," _ Strippin snapped. He transferred both of Rythian's wrists into one hand and used the other to mash his face into the ground. Rythian stilled until only his labored breathing distinguished him from a corpse.

"All right, a step in the right direction," Sjin commented. "Honestly, I don't know  _ what's _ come over him."

"I really think," Nano put in, her voice strained, "we should all leave. Strippin's clearly handling things just fine on his own."

"No no, I wanna hear what the spooky guy has to say," Sips declared. "What's your problem, guy?"

Rythian didn't answer. His breathing had become almost perfectly regular, and he was staring fixedly at a spot just to Sips's left.

"Uh," Sips said, "guy?"

Strippin's hands started to tingle, and then to itch, as though he'd been holding an active power-tool for too long. Rythian seemed to be blurring, or at least he had become almost impossible to focus on.

_ "Move!" _ Lalna shouted, a moment too late.

Rythian snapped out of existence, leaving Strippin to drop six inches onto the hard ground, his hands clenched on thin air. He reappeared an arm's length to Sips's right, a good ten feet off the ground. He dropped like a stone and landed poorly; there was a resounding  _ crack _ and he fell to one knee immediately, even as he drew his sword. His attention was fixed inescapably on Sips.

Rythian lunged, snarling, at the same moment that Sjin flung himself in front of Sips. Rythian's sword struck clean through the farmer's abdomen, spattering blood across Sips's gray suit. Without so much as blinking, Rythian heaved Sjin aside, yanked his sword free, and struck at Sips again.

Sjin landed heavily on the ground and curled in on himself, twitching, while blood poured from the wound in his chest. Rythian's sword met flesh again, sinking up to the hilt in Sips's chest, drawing a diagonal slash through the middle of the blue insignia on his uniform. Sips looked down at the blade, and Rythian stood, trembling, all his weight on his left leg. On the ground, Sjin sighed out a gurgling breath and went still.

For a moment, the world hung suspended in amber.

Sips looked up and smiled.

"Really wish you hadn't done that, guy," he lamented. Lightning-quick, he grabbed Rythian by the throat; and then, as though he weighed no more than a house-cat, flung him clear across the farm. Rythian slammed into a tree and tumbled to the ground, where he made uncoordinated attempts to get his limbs between the earth and his body.

Sips pulled the sword out of his chest and examined it, chewing the inside of his cheek. Then his face split into a grin, his hand clenched on the hilt of the sword, and the blade began to glow cherry-red. Seconds later, and the sword was melting, dribbling down over Sips's grey hand like ice cream in summer. Droplets of molten metal plopped to the ground and set the grass on fire.

"Pity," Sips commented. "I liked this suit."

There was a blur of dark cloth, and suddenly Sips was on the ground. Molten metal showered the area—some of it landed on Rythian as he clambered back to his feet, but he took no notice of it, even as it sizzled against his skin. He drew the blade on his back—sheathed for years, so ever-present that it had blended into his silhouette and been ignored—and it gleamed red and thirsty in the midday light, glowing with its own darkness.

Fire erupted from Sips's body and he rose, wreathed in flame, the flesh melting from his body. He unfolded out of himself, spreading vast black wings, crawling out of his glamour all fangs and claws; but when he spoke, it was still in Sips's voice, still as amiably  _ bored _ as ever.

"You're dead, guy," he stated, standing up and up and up until he towered over Rythian, easily ten feet tall. His wings blotted out the whole sky. "I  _ liked _ that suit."

Rythian threw himself at the creature, katar-first. It swatted him out of the air as though he were a fly, and once again he landed with a nasty  _ crack, _ audible even from Strippin's position forty feet away. But he was up again in an instant, poised and ready to strike.

"Come and get me, you son of a bitch," he growled.

"Jeez, drama-bomb," the creature complained, rolling its eyes. "If you can't behave, I'm gonna put you in time-out."

Rythian did not so much as blink. He scarcely appeared to be breathing. The creature sighed.

"All right, fine. I guess I can kill you first, spooky guy."

With a  _ whoomph _ like an entire barrel of gasoline igniting, a fireball shot from the creature's hand. Rythian just barely managed to duck under it; he batted the next one aside with his katar, and the ball of flame exploded against the half-finished farmhouse, igniting the entire wall almost instantly.

_ "Oy!" _

Both Rythian and the creature turned, their heads snapping around in perfect sync. Lomadia was standing, feet planted, sword readied, glowering at the creature.

"You leave him alone!" she ordered.

The creature snorted, and with a casual flick of its wrist, sent another fireball hurtling towards Lomadia. She swung at it, apparently in an attempt to deflect it as Rythian had done, but it melted clean through her sword and exploded in her face.

She fell back to the ground in small, smoking pieces.

Strippin was clambering to his feet, intending to run like  _ hell, _ when there was a quiet  _ vwip, paff! _ and Rythian landed heavily on the creature's back, driving his katar between its shoulders and throwing an arm around its throat. Huge wings churned the air, and foot-long claws raked up Rythian's back, evidently determined to tear him off in as many pieces as was necessary. Rythian clung on, even as tendrils of smoke began to curl from his boots and sleeves and skin.

Strippin scrambled back behind one of the stone walls surrounding the more essential farm plots, poking his head up over the cover despite himself. The fight was like a train wreck—he could not have stopped watching even if the threat of death had been a promise.

A film of smoke had formed around Rythian and the creature, shivering with otherworldly roars, blurring their forms until—

_ -vwip- _

There was an explosion, concussive and blinding, and somehow a gigantic white plume had erupted from the little pond by the farm, and the water was hissing and spitting, and enormous wings were churning the steam into immense vortices, and Rythian, somewhere in the fog, was screaming like he was being boiled alive.

Through gaps in the seething clouds of steam, Strippin could see Rythian, both hands clutching the hilt of his katar, pinning the creature to the bottom of the pond. He was screaming as the water at his feet flash-boiled and jetted up over him, as the massive wings battered at his shoulders and scrabbling claws tore deep gouges into his legs. In the roiling steam, his silhouette did not look human—it was nearly as massive as the creature pinned underneath him, monstrous and terrible.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the creature stilled, its wings drooping into the bubbling waters beneath it. Rythian yanked his katar from its back and stumbled back onto land. He was bleeding profusely in half a hundred different places; his skin was blistered, peeling away in sheets. His right foot was twisted at an unnatural angle, and there was blood soaking through his face-mask.

"I told you it wasn't Sips," he declared hoarsely, and limped off towards the main house.

He made it three steps before he fell flat onto the dirt and began convulsing violently.

 


	5. Balance

Lalna was on his feet the instant Nano opened the door.

"How is he?" he asked, desperation plain in his voice.

"If I'm honest? Not great," she answered. "His back's broken in three different places and he's got a bit of rib poking into his lung. Plus a concussion and other assorted broken bones. Not to mention half his skin's been clawed off, and the rest is _really_ badly burnt."

"Jesus Christ," Lalna muttered. "Why's he _doing_ this?"

She folded her arms. "Doing what, exactly?"

"Putting himself through this! I mean, I could have him back on his feet again in five _seconds,_ if he'd just, y'know. . . ."

"Let you murder him?"

"I wouldn't call it _murder,"_ he objected. "Not if he agreed to it, anyway. And I don't see why he won't."

"You honestly mean to tell me, you don't understand why someone _wouldn't want to die?"_

"Well, not if they're as bad off as Rythian. 'S just, why would you choose to live like that? When you could be just, _bam!_ Healed. In like, five _seconds.''  
_

Nano sighed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Not everyone likes dying as much as you do."

"I don't _like dying,"_ he objected, "I'm just _saying,_ I don't understand why you'd choose to live like that! Like, yeah, dying's shit, but at least it's over quick."

"Well, fortunately, Lalna, you don't _have_ to understand. All you've got to do is get on with your life as usual, and let Rythian get on with his."

"Yeah," he conceded, "but, I just don't _understand."_

"Why don't you _ask_ him, then?" Nano demanded, exasperated. "If it's bothering you that much that you can't do anything else, why don't you just go in there and _ask_ him?"

Lalna opened his mouth, closed it again, and then frowned. "That's . . . actually a good idea. Yeah, I'll do that. 'S he still awake?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "D'you want to go now?"

"Don't see why not."

"All right. It'll have to be quick, since I've got to see Lomadia about the bees sometime today."

"Why can't you go now?"

"Because I'm coming with you to talk to Rythian."

"What? Why?" He frowned. "I'm not gonna _do_ nuffin' to him."

"I didn't think you would. I just—I don't know, Lalna, I don't _trust_ him."

"Don't trust _him?_ What's he gonna do, _bleed_ on me?"

"You might remember, Lalna, that he broke most of his bones _before_ he killed the demon."

"Right, but . . . I'm not as easy to kill as a demon, am I?"

"No, actually, you're easier."

"I—excuse me, I am _not!_ And it's not as if he's gonna do anything to me. I'm _me."_

"I'm sorry, what Rythian are _you_ thinking of? Because the Rythian in that room back there likes to kill you when he's upset."

"Aw, c'mon, Nano, that was _years_ ago! 'S all behind us now, we've been getting on just fine."

"Because he's brainwashed himself. And I'm _not_ sure if you noticed, but the role-playing setup _sort of_ fell apart with the whole Sips thing."

"Sjin's bit of it, yeah. Rythian's fine."

"Lalna? I go with you, or you don't go at all."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Ugh, _fine."_

Nano turned and opened the door, holding it for him. "After you."

Grumbling, Lalna stepped into the room; Nano followed, closing the door behind her.

Rythian was watching them, purple light spilling from his eyes and over his face. He was swathed in bandages and almost completely immobilized by various splints.

"Jesus, you look like hell," Lalna commented.

"Really," Rythian drawled, his voice thin, "I never would have guessed. What do you want, Lalna?"

"What, I can't just pop in to say hi?"

 _"Saying hi_ doesn't usually start with a five minute conversation in the hallway."

Lalna flushed. "You heard that?"

"Not individual words."

"Lalna," Nano put in, "just ask him and leave him alone. God knows he could use his rest."

He glowered at her. "See, this is why I didn't want you to come with."

"Ask me what, Lalna?" Rythian inquired tiredly.

"It's just—why're you _doing_ this?"

"Doing what, exactly?"

"This . . . _this,"_ Lalna replied, gesturing to all of Rythian. "You could be back on your feet in five seconds, and I can't work out why you're not."

Rythian looked at him for a long time; his breathing was shallow, but steady, and his gaze was absolutely unwavering.

"Lalna," he stated, "kill yourself."

Nano started, stepping back into something closer to a fighting stance. Her hand drifted towards her sword, and she began calculating how long it would take her to cross the distance to Rythian, and how she could pin him without accidentally killing him.

"Ex— _what?"_ Lalna cried.

"You'll wake up in bed, perfectly fine," Rythian continued. "Why not?"

"Yeah, but—look, it's _different._ If I was you—"

"How about I break your arm for you, Lalna? Then you can jump out of the sky door."

"No! That's stupid, that's what we've got healing potions for!"

"Waste of resources and time. What if I broke your other arm, too? And your legs. And your spine in three places. What if I gave you a concussion to go with it? What if I ripped off half your skin and boiled you alive? At what point, Lalna, do I get you to kill yourself for _convenience?"_

"I—this isn't about me, Ryth."

"Since when?"

"Enough," Nano interjected. "Both of you, enough. I'll not have you killing each other."

"I wasn't _gonna!"_ Lalna whined.

"I'll tell you what, Lalna," Rythian said. "If this is so distressing to you, fine, I'll let you kill me. After you kill Nano."

 _"What?"_ Nano cried, rounding on him. Lalna seemed to have been stunned to silence by the verbal blow.

Rythian approximated a shrug. "He won't do it."

"I don't care! Why would you even _say_ something like that?"

"Clearly, to shock some sense back into him. See how well it's working?"

"No. I will _not_ be dragged into this—this _feud_ you two've got going on. That was out of line, Rythian, and you will _not_ do it again."

He regarded her for a moment, then nodded. "Lalna, allow me to amend. If you're going to _put me out of my misery,_ as I'm sure you think of it, you're coming with me."

"What—Ryth, that doesn't—"

"Call me that again," Rythian interrupted, his voice low and barbed, "and you'll be going first."

Lalna pulled up short, frowning. His head tilted to the side, and he bit his lip. Then, without warning, he turned on his heel and marched out of the room, leaving Nano scrambling to keep up.

"What the hell was _that_ about?" she demanded, once the door was firmly shut between them and Rythian.

"I think we should build ourselves a base," Lalna stated. "A secret base. Somewhere far away from here."

"Why?"

"Because he knows."

"He . . . _knows?"_

"Rythian. He knows."

"Knows _what,_ Lalna," she insisted.

"He's not role-playing anymore."

She felt the blood drain from her face. "That's . . . are you sure?"

"God, yes."

"All right. I'll get my pick."

"Not going to drop off your bees with Lomadia?"

A thought occurred to her, and she decided, "Actually, yeah. I'll meet you out there in a bit."

"Right," Lalna acquiesced, and tromped off towards the sorting room.

* * *

 

"Oy, Lom, you got a minute?"

Lomadia looked up from the buzzing hive and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

"Uh, yeah, hang on a sec, I'm a bit wrist-deep in bees at the moment."

"Yeah, no worries," Nano assured her. She glanced over her shoulder, back towards the floating island, and bit her lip.

"Right, so. What's up?" Lomadia asked, standing and brushing her hands off. "Actually, we should probably talk away from the bees. The smoke'll be wearing off soon and they'll get all excited."

"Sure," Nano said. Lomadia started towards the in-progress log house, and Nano followed after. "Listen, can I ask you for a favor?"

"Course you can," Lomadia answered. "I might not be able to get to it right away, but I'll do my best. What d'you need?"

"Um, I might be . . . away, for a while. D'you think you could, y'know, look after things while I'm gone?"

Lomadia frowned. "Where're you going?"

"Not sure yet," Nano hedged, "but it'll probably be pretty far. It's a . . . thing, me and Lalna are doing. Needs some distance from the main . . . everything."

"Is this like, a _nuclear_ sort of thing?"

"Maybe? Not sure yet."

"You seem 'not sure' about an awful lot of things."

"Do I? Yeah, I guess I am. Sort of. Look, I just . . . I'm worried, right? About, well, everyone. Something funny is going on round here. I mean, have you _seen_ what the Hats are building? And there's the whole Sips-thing."

"Yeah? I get where you're coming from, but I'm not sure what you're asking me to do."

Nano rubbed her face, sighing. "Honestly? I'm not either. I'm just worried that if I take my eyes off this place for a _second,_ it's all going to go up in flames."

"Trust me, I know the feeling. D'you want me to keep you posted while you're gone?"

"That'd be brilliant, actually. Would you?"

"Sure. Anything in particular you want me to pay attention to?"

"Rythian," she blurted, and had to resist clapping her hand over her mouth.

Lomadia cocked an eyebrow at her. "Yeah, all right. Pretty sure he'll be laid up in bed for the next few months, but—"

There was a blood-curdling scream from above, growing louder and nearer with alarming speed. A figure plummeted from the sky island and slammed into the ground with a palpable _crunch_ and a thud that Nano could feel through her feet. Blood splattered out from under a white lab coat, and shattered glass toppled from broken goggles.

A spark of flame ignited at the lip of the sky door, and slowly descended, resolving into Rythian and a jetpack. He alighted effortlessly on the splintered ruins of Lalna's shoulders, looked Nano dead in the eye, and shrugged.

"He slipped," Rythian explained, and padded off into the log house, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him.

"Nano," Lomadia murmured, her voice strained, _"take me with you."_

"I—" she began, before suddenly remembering what must, as a matter of course, be happening upstairs in the main house. Swearing vehemently, she sprinted for the ladder, every other thought driven entirely out of her head.

* * *

 

She nearly kicked down the door to the communal bedroom—Lalna was sitting in bed, his fingers laced over his shins, his forehead resting on his knees. His head snapped up when Nano burst in, and his face was pale as milk.

"Are you all right?" she demanded, kneeling on the mattress next to him and taking his face in her hands. "What happened?"

"I mean, seems sort of obvious, I s'pose," he mumbled, eyes lowered, some of the color returning to his cheeks.

Nano scowled at him. "Did you kill him?"

"I . . . might've helped, a bit."

"And then he pushed you out the sky door."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Good. You're lucky I don't push you out as well."

He looked up at her, injured. "That's hardly fair!"

"Neither is mercy-killing someone who doesn't want to die, you idiot."

"That's not—I mean, it wasn't like . . . I just, y'know— _helped!"_

"You're an idiot," Nano told him, and then, before he could respond, leaned in and kissed him. He tensed for a moment, then melted against her, settling his hands on her hips and unfolding his legs. He was warm, and the first sprouts of stubble on his chin were rough against her face, and he kissed her like it was the only way he could breathe.

Finally, she threw her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against his neck. He drew her close, wrapping his arms around her tightly, and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

"We've really got to get our own base," he murmured.

"With our own bedroom?" she inquired, somewhat tearfully.

"Ideally, yeah."

"Well, don't get your stupid self killed again, and it'll go much faster."

"I'll try not to, thanks mum."

"I'm not your mum."

"You're a _bit_ my mum."

"If you'd ever learnt how not to be a child, I wouldn't have to be."

"I've learnt a few things about being a grown-up."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"I think property taxes are a thing," he opined. "And something about vegetables."

"You're absolutely the worst."

"Am I? Thanks."

She nudged him with her forehead. "Lalna?"

"Hm?"

"If you die again, I'll kill you."

"That seems counter-productive, dunnit."

"Oh, shut up."

"All right," he agreed affably, and kissed her hair, and held her like he'd never have to let go.

 


	6. Between Sheets

Rythian sighed, sinking back into his pillows, as Lalna and Nano hurried out of his makeshift hospital room. Everything hurt. He was fairly certain he'd gained an extra dimension somewhere, just so that it could hurt more.

In a way, he was glad. He'd spent so long not feeling anything at all that even pain was welcome.

_"He's going to kill you~"_

The voice drifted lullaby-light from under his bed, rising through the pillow like bubbles in water. He stiffened, and felt the sharp edge of his most broken rib prod his lung.

"The monster under the bed," he commented, his voice tense. "And here I was, thinking that was a metaphor."

"Oh, it was that, too," the creature from the woods assured him brightly. "I'm glad you appreciate the joke as much as I do."

"What do you want?"

"Tsk, rude, Rythian, very rude." The mattress beneath him shifted in a dozen different places, then slowly reached up with a multitude of hands, all draping themselves over his legs, his torso, his arms; one came to rest lightly around his throat. There was more movement, and a face pushed itself out of the fabric just above his shoulder, pressing murmuring cotton lips to his neck. "Can't I just pop in to say _hi?"_

"Get off of me," Rythian croaked. He was having trouble breathing—that rib kept poking into his lung—and his skin was crawling.

"I'm not going to _hurt_ you, Rythian," the creature assured him, and planted a textile kiss to his neck.

"That's not what concerns me," he blurted, half-panicked.

They laughed. "I'm not going to hurt you," they repeated, "in _any_ way."

"Then what the hell do you want?"

Another kiss of cloth. "Lalna's going to kill you."

"Tell me something I _don't_ know."

"Ooh, _salty."_ The murmuring lips opened wide and a very long, very _real_ tongue traced up the side of Rythian's neck. "I wonder if that's how you'd taste," the creature whispered. Rythian attempted to squirm away from the touch, but the hands, gentle as they seemed, kept him firmly in place.

"What do you _want?"_ he demanded again. He was starting to feel like he might be sick.

"Oh, _lots_ of things, Rythian. I want a little puppy to keep me company. I want a little garden in my backyard." Their voice dropped and twisted into something unnatural, something obscene. _"I want to eat you alive and listen to you scream."_

Rythian thrashed again, but all he managed to do was send lightning bolts of pain through every last one of his broken bones. The creature laughed.

"But mostly, Rythian, for now, I think I want you to rescue those Hat boys from their silly little cult. And if you can't, well, I suppose you'll have to kill them. Permanently, of course."

"And why should I?" he growled.

"Because you're a lovely and upstanding thing," they replied, "and because if you don't. . . ."

The hand around his throat tightened suddenly, and all the others dug in fabric fingernails so sharp they almost broke the skin, and he was being dragged down into the mattress, and the long, wet tongue was exploring the back of his neck, his ear, working its way under his mask and across the face that only existed when no one was looking at it. He tried to scream, but no air could pass the death-grip around his throat.

_"If you don't, I will eat you alive, Rythian. And oh, how you will_ **_scream."_ **

And suddenly he was lying atop his bed again, covered only by blankets, and the only sound was his own labored breathing.

Then the door opened, and Rythian could not suppress a panicked twitch at the surprise.

He felt the broken rib pierce through his lung, and while blood poured into the space that air should have been, dread poured into the rest of him as he saw who was standing on the threshold.

Lalna closed the door softly behind him, watching with a detached curiosity as Rythian began coughing up blood.

"Oh dear," he intoned, crossing to the bedside and seating himself. "That doesn't look good."

Reaching out with a splinted arm, Rythian grabbed Lalna's sleeve in broken, shaking fingers.

_"Help me,"_ he gurgled. His whole left lung was on fire, and he was getting dizzy, he was _drowning,_ and if he could just roll onto his side, maybe he could breathe for long enough to survive. . . .

Lalna reached out and, ever so gently, pressed Rythian's shoulders back onto the bed.

"I am helping," he replied. "Sorry, Ryth. 'S for your own good."

Blood was dribbling from his nose now, and running down his throat, and no matter how he coughed there was always more, flowing into his other lung and setting that one aflame as well. Everything was pain, he was constructed _entirely_ of _pain,_ and he couldn't breathe, couldn't _breathe. . . ._

The numbness started in his toes and fingers and crept up his limbs, and he couldn't deny that he was glad. Darkness began wrapping itself over his vision, layer by grey layer, and his mind had gone slow and warm.

"There you go," Lalna murmured, and patted Rythian's cheek.

Soon afterwards, the numbness became complete, his mind faded into colors and lights, and then the darkness swallowed him whole.

* * *

 

He opened his eyes in the bed upstairs. He breathed, and it was ecstasy. Nothing hurt, and the world was beautiful, and he was going to _kill that son of a bitch scientist._

Slowly, he climbed out of the bed. He stretched, reveling in the restored vitality of his body. He flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders, took deep and cleansing breaths.

Which breaths, in the way that oxygen usually does, set the fires of his hatred to roaring inside of him.

Still moving with a practiced nonchalance, he took a sword from the chest in the corner and strolled downstairs. His footfalls were soft, scarcely making a sound even on the wooden stairs. As he descended, the hum of the generator reached him, so he turned his steps towards the machine room, still treading as silently as a cat.

Lalna was standing by the generator, arms folded, tapping his foot as his jetpack recharged. He did not look up when Rythian entered, nor did he seem to notice him approaching. At the end of the room, the sky door stood open, admitting cool air and birdsong.

Rythian crept up behind Lalna until he was close enough to ruffle his hair with his breath. Lalna's head lifted, just slightly, and Rythian made his move.

One hand grabbed Lalna by the hair, while the other brought the sword up to lay edge-on against Lalna's chest like a safety belt. With such leverage, Rythian kicked Lalna in the back of the knee, hard enough to unbalance him, and then hauled him bodily to the sky door.

"Hello, Lalna," he growled, his voice sharp with unaccustomed venom.

"R-Rythian!" Lalna stammered, his voice cracking. There was already sweat beading on his face. "That, uh, didn't take as long as I thought!"

"I'll bet it didn't. Interestingly, people tend to drown in their own blood much faster when they're made to lie on their backs."

"Ah? I—yep, yeah, seems to be the case." He gulped. "What uh . . . what d'you need?"

"It's not a matter of need, Lalna."

"What do you . . . want?" Lalna guessed.

"I want to kill you," Rythian answered, his voice low and even. "I want to hold you down while you choke. I want to hear you beg me for help with your own blood spilling over your lips. I want to watch you _die."_

Lalna shivered in his grasp. "Are you going to?"

Rythian let the question hang for a long moment before moving; he put the bridge of his nose against Lalna's shoulder and lifted his head, dragging the mask down off his face. The wind was cold against him, but Lalna's skin was warm under his lips as he pressed a kiss to the soft skin just under his jaw.

"Eventually," he murmured, eyes half-lidded. Lalna shivered again. "Retribution must be had, after all."

"Oh?" he queried, breathless.

"Yes. And you'll know, when it comes, that you've earned it."

"How so?" He sounded more like a child enraptured by a storyteller than a man being threatened with death.

"I asked you to let me live, and you killed me. By the end, you will beg me for death. And I will give it to you."

"Yeah?" Lalna breathed.

"Unfortunately for you," Rythian purred, "this isn't the end."

"Wait—what?"

Rythian _pushed._

The scream was glorious; the sickening _crunch_ of impact was like sweet release.

Basking in the glow of his inner hellfire, Rythian tugged his mask back into place, strapped Lalna's jetpack on, and descended, landing neatly on his ruined corpse. Everyone was staring at him. He was glad.

When he looked up, it was Nano's eyes he met, and it was Nano's look of horror that soured his high.

"He slipped," he stated flatly, and stalked off to the nearest structure, the better to remove himself from her accusing gaze.

And with that accomplished, there was nothing left to do but to get back to work, while frightened voices conversed in undertones outside and Lalna's blood soaked through his shoes.

* * *

 

Rythian knocked lightly on Sjin's doorframe, since, although the door was ajar, Sjin had his back to it and was focused on some delicate wooden contraption. At the knock, the farmer looked up over his shoulder, and, seeing Rythian, forced a smile.

"Hallo!" he greeted, too brightly. "Come in, I'm just working on this—well, it's a bit scientific, don't know if you'd want to hear about it."

Rythian stepped inside and closed the door. He crossed to the chair—set aside from the worktable, unused—and seated himself in it. Lacing his fingers together, he propped his elbows on his knees and looked up at Sjin.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Sjin blinked at him. "Wh—uh, what? What for, Rythian?"

"For killing you. And . . . for Sips."

Slowly, the grin slid from Sjin's face. He set down his wooden contraption, turned, and seated himself on the worktable, crossing his legs underneath him.

"It's . . . fine," he replied. "It's not your fault, what happened."

"I'm still sorry. I wish it hadn't come to that. I should have handled it better."

Sjin shook his head. "No, no. It—serves me right, really. For believing in—in dreams coming true." He sniffed, cleared his throat. "I just . . . I _wanted_ to believe, so _much."_

"I know," Rythian assured him. "No one could blame you for that."

Wiping at his cheeks, Sjin said, "Hah. Well. I do. That's what I get, I suppose. For trying—for thinking that if I never . . . for—for saying that if he wasn't real, I couldn't lose him again. Hah. But I could. I did. And it is so, _so_ much worse now."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, unsure of what else to say.

Sjin was crying openly by then, not even trying to wipe the tears away as they rolled down his cheeks. "It's just—I don't know what to _do_ with myself, without him. I never have. I never—never thought I'd _have_ to."

"You'll figure it out," Rythian told him. "You have time."

Sjin let out a little cough of laughter. "Time. Yes. I've got nothing _but_ time. All of eternity, alone."

"Lonely, maybe," he corrected gently, "but not alone."

"Oh, dear. Is it time for the friendship speech?"

"Only if you want to hear it."

He shook his head. "I think I can do without, thanks." Sniffling, he wiped at his cheeks again. "I hear you pushed Lalna out the sky door."

Rythian sighed; he could have done without the change in topic, but he had also run entirely out of original consolations to give, and would've had to start repeating.

"I might have had something to do with it," he acknowledged.

"Good."

Rythian looked up, startled. Sjin was gazing at him with something approaching approval.

_"Good?"_ Rythian repeated.

"I think so. Better him than me, anyway."

"I'm sure he'd disagree with you."

"Hah! Of course he would." Sjin sighed, deflating somewhat. "Sorry. This is . . . harder. Than I thought it'd be."

"It usually is."

"Hm. Don't know where you get off, saying that. You've been handling it all spectacularly. Apart from pushing Lalna out the sky door, but let's face it, we've all wanted to."

Frowning, Rythian asked, "Handling _what_ all?"

"You know. Losing Tee and Zoey. Although I suppose it's not so bad, because Zoey's not dead, but. It still must sting."

Rythian felt like he'd been punched in the chest. Zoey. Tee. Holding her in his arms for the last time. Burying his body deep down in the darkness. Fragments of a story never quite fully pieced back into the reality where they belonged.

"I guess I just haven't been . . . thinking about it," he croaked. His head was aching fit to burst.

"That seems ideal," Sjin sighed. Rythian hardly heard him.

"I should go," he declared, getting to his feet too quickly. Sjin said something, but Rythian didn't hear him; he stumbled out into the purple evening and staggered his way to the forest, deep into the darkness where he couldn't be seen.

There, he fell to his knees and curled up as small as he would go, and let the sharp edges of broken memory tear his mind to tatters.


	7. Sewn Lips

Over the past three weeks, things had settled somewhat. Lalna and Nano had been largely absent, the Hats had been preoccupied with the whatever-it-was they were building up on the floating island, and the Rail brothers had spent the majority of their time underground. Rythian had been elbow-deep in magical flowers (with Sjin close beside him), and Lomadia had mainly tended to her bees and continued to ensure their food supply wouldn't run out. Not a single one of them had died in the last eight days.

So when her com crackled to life in her ear, the last thing she expected to hear was Nilesy, panicking.

"Lom! Oh, thank God. You've got to get everyone on the line. Something's gone wrong with the master clones."

"Oh,  _ Christ," _ she swore under her breath. "Okay, Nilesy, hang on a second, I'll patch everybody in."

A few moments of fiddling with the frequency, and her ears were full of chatter from three disparate conversations.

"Oy, everybody! Stop what you're doing and get back to the main house."

"What? Why?" Lalna demanded, his voice cutting over several other confused objections.

"Something's gone wrong with the master clones."

The explosion of noise in her ear made her reflexively yank her com out; by the time she had it back in place, everyone had quieted and Nilesy was speaking.

"—not  _ destroyed, _ exactly, but all the lights've gone off. We checked the power and everything, all the cables. Couldn't find anything wrong with it. 'Course, neither of us is an expert in this sort of thing, so it could be a simple problem, but since we can't get them working, I figure it qualified as an emergency."

Someone—most likely Trottimus, by the sound of it—had started up a low mantra of jumbled cursing.

"Right, Nilesy, err," Lalna began, "okay, it's probably best if I just come and take a look at it? Don't know if you can describe what's going on any better, but it'll get fixed faster if I just go take care of it."

"So you're an expert now?" Nano inquired.

"I built all of 'em, didn't I?"

"No, Lalna, you built  _ one _ of them, and  _ I _ built the rest."

"I built a lot more than that back at YogLabs!"

"Which was  _ how _ many years ago, now?"

"Why don't you both go?" Sjin suggested. "That way, you can watch each other's backs on the way there."

Rythian muttered something—the words were muffled, as though he was holding his hand over his com. Sjin laughed.

"Er, now's probably a good time to mention," Benji began.

"It's really not, Benj," Strippin cut in.

"But we've started building a railway down here that goes back to Sick Bay."

"Goddammit, Benji, why don't you  _ ever  _ listen to me?"

"It doesn't go but halfway, but that's better than nothin', right?"

"You been buildin' secret railways, mate?" Alsmiffy demanded, an edge of threat in his voice. "You been stealin' iron from the Hand?"

"It weren't your iron in the first place!" Strippin protested. "You stole it from  _ us!" _

"Look, everyone  _ shut up," _ Lomadia snapped. "I don't care who did what.  _ Someone's _ got to go check on those clones so that we don't  _ all die. _ If Lalna and Nano are willing to go, fantastic. If Strippin and Benji have built a railroad halfway there, grand.  _ Nothing else matters because death is now permanent. _ Everyone understand?"

Something like a mad cackle sounded in Lomadia's ear, and all three of the Hats' coms went silent.

"Somebody'd better go check on them," Nano advised.

"I'm basically at the island, I'll do it," Rythian volunteered. "Going off-com for a minute or so."

"Right," Lalna declared. "So where's this secret railroad?"

"Under Rail Base HQ," Benji answered. "I can show you, if you like."

"You all sort that out," Lomadia told them. "I'm off-com." She isolated her frequency with Nilesy's. "Nilesy? Lalna and Nano are on their way."

"Yeah, I heard. Any idea when they'll be here?"

"Don't know. Less than three weeks, I'd imagine."

"Oh, er, okay. That's . . . not terribly long."

Lomadia frowned. "Nilesy, is something wrong?"

"Wrong? Er, no, well, not exactly. It's just, well, Ravs declared himself mayor—"

"He did  _ what?" _

"And then started using the people here as his own personal slaves—"

"Oh my God."

"And they've  _ sort of _ been trying to assassinate us for a couple of weeks now."

_ "Us? _ He's dragged  _ you _ into this as well?"

"I didn't have much choice, did I?! Someone had to look out for the master clones." He sighed. "I'll tell you, Lom, I was not made to be a diplomat. Not for high-tech maintenance, either. I mean, mostly I'm just a pool-boy, and he's got me overseeing construction for some kind of giant underground city! Not to mention I have to take care of his beer-squids. I think he's gone a bit mad."

"I'd say more than a bit, by the sound of it. And all this has happened since Monday?"

"Er," Nilesy hedged, "not exactly."

"What d'you mean,  _ not exactly?" _

"Well, it's just that, this has sort of been going on for, er, a month."

"A  _ month? _ Why are you only just telling me  _ now?" _

"I didn't want to worry you! And I was hoping, sort of, that it'd resolve itself? At some point? But we're a bit out of time, at the moment. On account of the, now, multiple assassination attempts."

Lomadia shook her head, sighing. "Are you safe?"

"We've got the forcefield up at the moment. So long as it stays sunny we should be fine, and considering it hasn't rained the entire time we've been here, I think the odds are good." Nilesy paused. "Of course, now that I've said that, it's going to start pouring down rain for forty days straight."

"Hang in there, all right? Lalna and Nano will be there as soon as they can, and they should be able to sort everything out." She neglected to mention that one option for  _ sorting everything out _ would be to nuke the place, mostly because it sounded like something Lalna might actually  _ do. _

"Right. I think we'll be okay."

"Nilesy? When this is all . . . taken care of. D'you—I mean, would you maybe want to come back with Lalna and Nano? To live here?"

"Ah? Ah, hm. Well, yes, I would, I'm just not sure I can leave Ravs alone with all . . .  _ this. _ Circumstances being what they are. Maybe you could come down with Lalna and Nano?"

She shook her head. "I can't. Half the idiots here would forget to feed themselves, and the other half would probably kill each other in a fit of pique. I'm sorry, Nilesy, I wish I could."

"No, no, it's fine. I'm sure we'll figure something out . . . soon. Soon-ish. Maybe—oh! Maybe we could bring the master clones out there, and then we can all be in the same place! Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

"That sounds like a grand idea," she replied. "I should . . . probably get going. Bees to tend to, idiots to feed. You know."

"Yeah, I should probably get back to the squids. Mostly I just have to talk to them, but Ravs pitches fits if I don't."

She snorted. "That sounds terrible. Maybe you should give him to the squids."

Nilesy sighed. "Oh, God, if only. Okay, well. I'll see you soon, my dear."

"Bye, Nilesy," she said, and then, before she could second-guess herself, "Love you."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"I love you too, Lom," Nilesy told her softly. "Bye for now."

"Bye," she repeated, and turned off her com.

She had to lie down in the grass and hug herself, for her heart was so light that she might otherwise have simply floated away.

* * *

 

When ten full minutes had passed without a single word from Rythian or the Hats, Lomadia took it upon herself to find out just what the hell was going on up in the main house. She'd briefly tuned into the main com frequency, in case it contained any news, but there was only Nano and Strippin discussing necessary arrangements while Lalna whinged in the background.

She nearly ran head-on into Rythian at the top of the ladder, and when she took an involuntary, surprised step back, his hand shot out faster than her eyes could follow and caught her by the forearm. She looked up at him, startled, and found him staring at his own hand as though wondering what it was doing. Evidently, he felt her eyes on him, because he looked up shortly thereafter, a faint green glow spilling from eyes the color of summer grass. He blinked.

"Sorry," he mentioned.

"Don't worry about it," she deferred, perplexed. "Is everything all right?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "I don't know."

"Are the Hats all right?"

His expression grew even cagier. "They're . . . alive."

_ "That's _ not ominous at all. What's going on in there, anyways?"

"I—" he began, and broke off, shaking his head. "I'm not sure."

"Well, you were in there for ten minutes, it must be pretty bloody complicated if you don't know what's going on."

His eyes narrowed, and close as she was to him, she could see tendrils of the old violet color creeping through the freshly-acquired green. As soon as he blinked, though, his irises were solid green again. He let go of her arm and straightened, plucking at bits of dirt stuck to the front of his vest.

"This cult thing is taking its toll on Ross," he mentioned, overly casual. "He had some kind of nervous breakdown. He seems better now."

She scowled at him. "There's something you're not telling me."

Rythian shrugged. "There are a lot of things I'm not telling you, mostly because they're not important. If you want to ask them about it, they're all still in their courtroom-church thing."

"If you're keeping secrets, and one of them gets someone killed," Lomadia warned, but Rythian cut her off.

"I'm not putting anyone in danger but me," he stated. Lomadia grabbed a fistful of his shirt, dragging him down to meet her eyes.

"If you're keeping secrets," she growled, "and they get  _ anyone _ killed, I will personally hand your arse to you on a silver platter. Understand?"

Rythian blinked at her. "Yes?" he guessed.

"Have you got anything you want to tell me?"

For a moment, it looked as though he might say something; but when he did speak, all he said was, "No."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes."

She let go of him and straightened her shirt. "Right. I'm going to go talk to the boys and make sure they're not, I don't know, burning anything."

"Not last I checked," Rythian said, "but it  _ has _ been three whole minutes."

She snorted. "You're relieved of duty, flower-boy. Off you trot."

Rythian saluted, then brushed past her to the ladder, which he slid down with far more flair than was necessary.

"Drama-queen," Lomadia grumbled, rolling her eyes, and headed for the gilded chamber behind the main building.

The building—really it was more of a complex at this point—was almost eerily silent. Usually there would be raised voices, the hum of a generator, the crackle of a furnace. Instead, there was only wind, whistling a lonely and alien tune to itself.

Lomadia pushed open the back door to the courtroom and stopped on the threshold, staring.

All three Hats were seated at the base of the giant golden hand. Ross was in the center, with Alsmiffy on his right and Trottimus on his left, each of them tightly grasping one of his hands. Trottimus was speaking in a low and urgent voice. All three were crying.

"What the hell happened to you three?" Lomadia asked, entering the courtroom and closing the door behind her. Alsmiffy's head snapped up, his expression somewhere on the dividing line between fear and anger. Ross let out a mad giggle and buried his face in Trott's shoulder.

"I think you'd better go," Alsmiffy told her. "We've got this under control."

"Have you? Because it doesn't look like it to me."

Smiffy turned an appealing gaze on Trottimus, who nodded. Alsmiffy extracted himself from Ross's grip—no easy feat, by the look of it—and approached Lomadia, wiping tears from his face.

"C'mon. We'll talk outside."

She was tempted to object, but held her tongue, allowing Smiffy to lead her out onto the uncovered walkway joining the courtroom to the main building. It was cold, and windy, and Alsmiffy almost immediately seated himself on the floor, his back against the parapet. Lomadia followed suit, sitting opposite him.

"All right," she said. "What's going on with you three? And if you say  _ nothing,  _ I will hit you with a stick."

Alsmiffy sighed, rubbing at his face. "It's all gone a bit . . . wonky," he admitted. "I mean, Ross has always been a bit off, but I think he went fully mad when the whole, er, Xephos-thing happened. Doesn't deal well with dyin', and all. So, yeah, him hearin' that suddenly it's permanent, it sort of . . . fucked him up a bit."

"That makes sense, I suppose. Doesn't explain the whole cult-thing, though."

"It's not a cult," Smiffy spat, then pinched his lips together and shook his head. "Sorry."

"If it's not a cult, then what  _ is _ it?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I dunno, mate, some other thing. Just . . . don't call it a cult, right? Makes it sound like we're being mind-controlled."

"Are you?"

An odd look came over Smiffy's face, almost as though he might be sick, and he shivered. "No," he said. "We're not."

"Then what the hell's possessed you to—do whatever it is you're doing in there?"

"Mate, listen," Smiffy sighed, turning appealing eyes on Lomadia. "If I could tell you what was goin' on, I would, all right? You askin' all these questions ain't helpin'. We're doin' what we're doin' and it's no one's business but ours."

"I am getting sick and  _ tired _ of people keeping  _ secrets _ from me," Lomadia snapped.

Alsmiffy's green skin had grown notably slimier. "No, mate, I  _ cannot _ tell you," he insisted, his eyes darting. "'Cause if I do, you're a dead woman. And that's not me sayin' that. I've got—I'm . . . rrgh, goddammit. Right, I just  _ can't, _ okay? And if you're smart, you'll leave this the hell alone, like we should've."

"Leave what alone, exactly?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, mate. My lips are sealed. Just—don't go askin' favors you can't repay, right?"

Before Lomadia could ask what the hell  _ that _ meant, Alsmiffy had gotten to his feet and hurried back inside, closing the door behind him perhaps more forcefully than was necessary.

"This is absolutely  _ ridiculous," _ Lomadia grumbled, pushing herself up off the cold stone floor. "Swear to God, if this gets someone killed, I'm moving to Sick Bay and living with the squids."

 


	8. Counterbalance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains themes of/references to suicide.

Watching Ross crumble was like taking an arrow to the heart, and it never got to hurting any less, no matter how many times he saw it happen. By the time Trott managed to remove all three of them from the group com frequency, Ross had reverted to what had lately become his default state—a quivering, laughing mess on the floor. Alsmiffy was trying to talk to him, but Ross was unreachable, as always. Eventually, Smiffy let him be and came over to Trott.

"This isn't good," he stated.

"Which bit, Smiff?" Trott demanded. "The bit where we're all gonna die, or the bit where we won't come back afterwards? 'Cause they both seem pretty shit to me."

"Oy, don't you start. _He's_ bad enough." He cocked a thumb at Ross, who had gone quiet and was simply rocking back and forth on the ground. "Seriously, mate, what're we gonna do?"

"Why the hell're you askin' _me?"_

"'Cause you _always_ know what to do! How're we gonna get this thing done in the next week?"

"I don't _know,_ mate, I always just called Nigel!"

"Oh, fuckin' fantastic. Have we _ever_ done anything without Legit Builders? Ever, in our entire history together, even once?"

"I don't _know,_ have you? Has Ross?"

"Actually, Ross might've, come to think of it."

"Yeah, that's a fair point." Trott sighed, folding his arms. "Be fantastic if we were makin' a giant marble castle or some shit. It'd be done already."

"Well, assumin' Ross wouldn't've gone completely off his rocker."

"Yeah, that would've helped. As-is he's—"

Gone, in fact, was what he was. There was an empty space on the floor, and the door out to the slime island was standing open. Trott's insides turned to cold jelly. Alsmiffy was sprinting for the door, yelling out for Ross, and Trott found himself running as well. He doubted he had ever moved so fast in his life.

_"Ross!"_ Smiffy roared, skidding to a halt on the pale, slimy grass. "You get away from there _right now!"_

Ross turned, slowly, so that his heels were sticking out over the thousand-foot drop to the hard ground below. There were tears on his face. He wasn't laughing anymore.

"I can't do it," he choked. "I won't!"

"Ross," Trott warned, "come away from there, now. We'll talk about this, right? Don't do anything stupid."

"Haven't got a choice, mate," Ross said, shaking his head as further tears spilled down his cheeks. "I can't do it. I can't!"

"Can't do _what,_ mate?" Alsmiffy pleaded.

"I can't watch you die again!" he cried, voice breaking. "I won't do it! I'd rather die! I haven't got a _choice,_ mates, I have to, I _have_ to!"

"No! No, you don't, you really don't," Trott assured him. "We're not gonna die, Ross. We'll figure this out."

"There's no _time,"_ Ross moaned. "No _time,_ and he's gonna make me do it again, and I can't, I won't, I'll die first."

"Nobody's gonna make you do anything!" Smiffy objected.

"We're gonna get through this, mate. All three of us," Trott put in.

Ross sniffed, still shaking his head, and made as though to take a step back. Alsmiffy lurched forward.

"You stay back!" Ross ordered, pointing an accusing finger at Alsmiffy. "Don't you come any closer, or I'll jump! I'll do it!"

Alsmiffy ground his teeth. "Get away from there, Ross, I'm not joking."

_"Neither am I!"_ he yelled.

"Ross?" Trott attempted. "Listen to me, all right? This is not the way to solve this. It's not gonna fix anything, mate."

"It will for me!"

"Shut up!" Smiffy snapped. "Fuck's _sake,_ Ross, stop being so bloody fucking stupid and come away from there!"

"Smiff!" Trott admonished, astounded.

"No, I've fuckin' _had_ it with him! What the fuck're you thinkin', mate? You're so damn wrapped up in yourself, you ever _once_ spare a thought for us? You don't wanna watch us die, mate, then get the fuck back over here and help get this fuckin' thing _done!"_

"Smiff, you are _not_ helping."

Ross was shaking his head, slowly, a look of supreme guilt on his face.

"I'm sorry," he murmured brokenly. "I'm sorry, I can't. . . ."

"You son of a bitch, don't you _dare_ make me watch you die!" Alsmiffy screamed, his voice cracking. "Don't you dare. My fuckin' family's all dead, my whole fuckin' _species_ is dead! I have lost _everything,_ you selfish _twat,_ don't you _dare_ make me lose you, too!" He took a shuddering breath and scrubbed at his eyes, then repeated, softly, "Don't you dare make me lose you, too."

"Smiff. . . ." Ross croaked. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I haven't got a choice. . . ."

"I hate you," Smiffy snarled, venomous. "I fuckin' _hate_ you!"

"That's it," Trott declared, stepping up. His heart was pounding, hands shaking, head spinning. "Ross, if you go, I'm goin' with you."

"What? No, you—Trott, you can't!"

Alsmiffy pulled himself upright, wiping his nose. "Y'know what? Me too, mate. Sorry. You ain't gonna watch us die, _fine,_ but we ain't gonna watch you, neither."

"Don't," Ross whispered, his eyes full of horror. "Don't."

"If you go," Trott repeated, "we go."

"You can't!"

"We will," Smiffy affirmed. "So you come back from there, or I'll drag you myself."

Ross looked over his shoulder, his breathing quick and shallow. For a frozen moment, he hung suspended above the abyss, staring down into his own death.

Then, meekly as a kitten, he hung his head and stepped in from the edge.

Alsmiffy had him by the shoulders in an instant, hauling him back until they both cannoned into the wall, whereupon he took Ross's face in his hands and kissed him full on the mouth. Trott rushed to their sides, plastering himself to Ross and gripping hard to any part he could reach. As soon as Smiffy broke off the kiss, Trott grabbed Ross by the back of the head and kissed him as well.

"Don't you _ever_ scare me like that again," Smiffy admonished brokenly.

"I—I'm s-sorry," Ross stammered. He was clutching Alsmiffy's sleeve in a death-grip with one hand, and Trott's lapel with the other.

"Let's go inside, yeah?" Trott suggested, breathless. He was nearly weeping with relief. "I like inside better."

Ross nodded mutely, and Trott and Smiffy each took one of his hands, and thus joined they managed to collectively stagger their way indoors.

They'd only just finished settling in at the base of the Hand when Rythian slipped in through the side door. He took one look at them and hurried over, kneeling in front of Ross.

"What happened?" he asked, glancing at Trott.

"We . . . had a bit of trouble. It's fine now."

"It's clearly not. What's going on?"

"Stay out of it, mate," Alsmiffy warned. "Don't get involved."

Rythian sat back and crossed his legs beneath him.

"I'm already involved," he declared. "And I will do everything I can to help you."

Trott glanced at Smiffy, who was looking back at him. He shrugged. Smiffy turned his attention back to Rythian.

"We owed some favors to r—to rrr—" He broke off, eyes crossed as he attempted to scowl at his own mouth. "What the fuck?"

"He's trying to say _rrr—"_ Trott attempted, but the name seemed to stick in his throat, clinging to his teeth with metal hooks. "The g—the . . . what the fuck, why can't I _say_ it?!"

Ross started giggling, and Trott gave up his attempts to speak in favor of comforting him.

Rythian held up a hand. "Someone's put you under a binding of secrecy."

"Oh, fuckin' _fantastic,"_ Smiffy sneered. "Just when I thought today couldn't get any better."

"It's fairly simple to break. Here, give me your hand."

"No way in _hell,"_ he retorted.

Rythian looked to Trott. "Your hand?" he requested.

Trott cocked an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. You might want to let go of Ross, though. It could transfer, and that's more effort than I'm willing to expend at once."

Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from Ross and held out his hand to Rythian. The mage took it gingerly, just barely touching it with his fingertips.

"This shouldn't take long," he assured Trott, and shut his eyes. Trott got the distinct feeling that something with a great many legs was scuttling around through his brains.

Sure enough, less than half a minute later, Rythian spoke up.

"There you are. Thought I wouldn't find you back here, hm? Let's untangle this, shall we?"

The thing with too many legs paused, and Trott felt something go _snip._

There was an explosion of golden light, and Rythian was flung across the room. He landed heavily on his shoulders and bounced head-over-heels three times before coming to land flat on his face. Trott cried out in alarm—he himself had felt only the lightest breeze tousle his hair.

"Jesus _Christ!"_ Alsmiffy cried. "Is he dead?"

Ross started laughing in earnest, barely breathing for the intensity of it. Gold-filigree lightning was crackling over Rythian's body, apparently uninterested in arcing to the ground. He began to flicker and distort, and then raised his head, locking gazes with Trottimus. His eyes were a white-gold so bright it was washing out the rest of his face.

_"Don't look,"_ he commanded, and Trott didn't so much hear the voice as feel it hammer in his chest and ring through his whole body. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled Ross's head down against his chest. Alsmiffy's arm wrapped around his back, holding all three of them tight together.

There was a sound like the sea inhaling, the sense of the world turning upside-down, and then silence.

"What in the _hell,"_ Rythian began hoarsely, "did you three _do?"_

Hesitantly, Trott cracked open an eye. Rythian had pulled himself onto hands and knees, and was shaking his head. There were scorch-marks on the floor below him and, upon further inspection, the ceiling forty feet above him.

"Er," Alsmiffy hazarded, "in . . . in regards to what, exactly?"

Rythian glared at him, and Smiffy recoiled visibly.

"What did you do," he clarified, "to piss off a _god?"_

"Ah," Trott said. "That."

Rythian's attention shifted to him, and Trott felt like he'd been punched in the chest. Rythian was radiating energy like a small sun, and being the focus of his attention was like standing in the midst of a river in flood. Trott found himself incapable of inhaling through the overwhelming force of it.

Rythian shut his eyes and bowed his head, and Trott gasped in air. He was drenched with sweat and trembling, and couldn't quite place how long he had been trapped under Rythian's gaze like a bug in amber.

Rythian took in a breath that seemed to suck all the air out of the room, and then there was a silent, blinding flash of light that left monstrous afterimages glowing on Trott's eyes. When his vision had cleared, Rythian had gotten to his feet and was dusting himself off.

"At any rate," he stated, "now that I know what I'm dealing with, I might be able to help. It will take a few days, but I ought to be able to do _something."_

"R-right," Trott stammered. "Best of luck. With that."

Rythian arched an eyebrow, then turned on his heel and strode out, leaving silence swirling in his wake.

"Mate?" Smiffy croaked. "I don't want his help."

"Christ, don't I know it," Trott replied.

"We're fucked," Ross announced, and sobbed.

* * *

 

Ross had his next breakdown two days later. It came seemingly without warning, dropping him to his knees on the floor next to the smeltery, leaving him wheezing with silent laughter. Nothing either of them said to him seemed to snap him out of it, so eventually Alsmiffy took him to the basement room—now stripped of all its gold and trappings—and stayed there with him for the next several hours. Trott continued working, though his hands were shaking and his eyes were blurry with exhaustion. He stayed up well into the night, assembling massive servos and drawing out miles of wire in a frantic haze.

"Not looking too good there, Trott."

He whirled and jabbed a desperate finger at the figure behind him.

"Five days!" he accused. "We've got five days left, you get the hell out of here!"

Ridge raised an eyebrow. He was floating several feet above the ground, seated lazily on a cushion of air.

"I know," he confirmed. "I'm not here to collect."

"Hate to break it to you, mate, but any _motivation_ you chuck at us is only gonna make this slower."

He clicked his teeth, shaking his head. "Trott, _Trott!_ You wound me. You know I wouldn't hurt any of you."

"Go fuck yourself with a cactus, mate," Trott snapped.

Ridge laughed. "Oh, wow! That's a good one. Maybe I should use that one on Smiffy."

All the blood drained from Trott's face. "N-no, I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Didn't mean it, Trott? Of course you did, otherwise you wouldn't have said it." He grinned. "I'd hate to have to encumber any of you. You only have five days left, after all."

"It's . . . we can't do it. Not in five days. Doesn't matter what you do to us, it's not possible."

"You'll make it possible," Ridge told him, eyes flashing. "I'm on a deadline, here."

"It's _literally_ impossible!"

"At the moment, sure," Ridge conceded. "But Trott, you still haven't asked me why I'm here!"

Trott ground his teeth, then growled, "What d'you want?"

"There we go. I'm here to offer _help."_

"Don't want _your_ sort of help," Trott retorted immediately.

"You don't want to miss your deadline, either. Trust me." He winked. "Besides, you don't even know what I'm offering."

"I know I'll pay for it later."

"Oh, come on, Trott, you know me. First taste is always free."

Trott sighed out a long breath through his nose. What choice did he have? There was no way they were going to get the robot finished in the next five days—four, really—and the _best_ -case scenario was that all three of them jumped off the sky island before Ridge could get ahold of them.

"What're you offering?" he asked.

Ridge grinned. "Trottimus, how would you like to join the crew of Legit Builders?"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he exclaimed, recoiling.

"It means you'll get your assignment done in the next five days," Ridge answered, "and I won't have to do anything . . . drastic."

He gulped. "What . . . what're you going to do to me?"

"You're really not in a position to be asking questions, Trott."

"I didn't say _no,_ I said _what're you going to do to me."_

"Oh, you know. Just give you a little taste of what I've got." He stood, turning away. "But if that's still too vague for you—"

"I accept!" Trott blurted. Ridge turned, slowly, and drifted down until his feet were on the floor.

"That's more like it," he praised, and beckoned. "Come here."

Trott, sick with dread, approached the demigod. Ridge cupped his cheek in his hand and smiled down at him. Trott's skin tingled where Ridge touched him.

"Now remember, Trott: if this isn't enough to get it done in time, you can always ask for more."

"Yeah, fine, can we get this over with?"

Ridge smiled. In the midnight darkness, his eyes looked blacker than the void.

"If you insist, Trott," he murmured. He leaned down and, without fanfare or warning, pressed his lips to Trott's.

The sensation was instantaneous and overwhelming. It was as though liquid sunlight was being poured down his throat, as though he was a statue being made flesh, as though he had never truly _lived_ until that very moment. His hands clenched on Ridge's lapels and he leaned into the kiss eagerly, greedily, thirsty for the light that flowed so readily into him, even as the heat of it began charring his insides, even as it began to consume him—it was agony and it was ruin and it was the most incredible thing he had ever felt.

Ridge pulled away, lingering, but firm in his separation. Trott chased his lips, but Ridge put a hand on his chest that stopped him entirely.

"No no," he murmured, "wouldn't want to burn you up, dearest."

And Trott _was_ burning, like he'd drunk a quart of magma, like his blood was turning to molten steel. His legs gave out underneath him and he curled in on himself as the pain continued to escalate, further and further until he was certain he must be burning holes in the floor with the sheer _heat_ filling his body. Ridge knelt next to him and patted his head.

"It'll be over soon," he assured him. "And remember: if you need more, you know where to find me."

And then he was gone, and Trott was left alone with the white-hot ecstasy searing torment through his veins.


	9. Interference

"Well, _that's_ bound to be a good sign," Nano drawled, gesturing in exasperation at the pillar of smoke rising up above the trees, pencil-thin and blue with distance. _"Especially_ considering all the radio-silence."

Lalna blew out a breath through his lips, readjusting the hang of his pack. "Could be," he postulated, "you don't know. Anyway it's not like we can just turn back, is it. We've got to go there either way."

"And have you, in your infinite wisdom, thought for even a moment about what we're going to do if everyone's dead and the master clones are ruined?"

Lalna paused, considering the green canopy overhead. "Now I have," he declared.

"And what have you come up with?"

He shrugged. "Er, run like hell? Seems like a good starting point."

"How you've managed to survive this long is beyond me," Nano told him, shaking her head. "Come on. Things aren't going to get any _better_ with waiting."

"My feet might," Lalna grumbled, hiking his pack up again.

"Oh, _waah,"_ she mocked, and stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "You're a great big baby."

"Well, that puts _you_ in a rather awkward position, doesn't it," he responded, grinning. Nano punched him in the shoulder.

"That's disgusting."

"You started it."

"You made it worse!"

"Aw, c'mon, I couldn't _possibly_ pass up an opportunity that good."

 _"Walk,_ you big baby."

Lalna set off at a disgruntled trudge. Nano kept pace with him easily.

"Shouldn't be expected to walk. Haven't hit that . . . er, thingy. What's-it-called. That thing babies get to when they're growing up."

"Developmental milestone?"

"Yeah, that! Haven't hit that yet. On account of I'm only a wee little babby."

Nano snorted. "There's only one thing about _you_ that's _wee little."_

"Oy!" he objected, pouting.

She cackled, then affected a mien of innocence. "What? I was talking about your _nose,_ Lalna! Your wee little button-nose, _awwh!_ It's so _cute!"_

A bright red flush crept up Lalna's face, all the way from the collar of his shirt to his hairline.

"It's not cute! Stop—quit calling it cute!"

"Oh, but it's just a widdle _babby_ nose!" She reached up and prodded his nose with the tip of her finger. He winced and swatted her hand away.

"Oy, I'm not joking! Leave off!"

"Oh, all right. Big baby."

"You've got a lot of nerve, calling me a baby," he cautioned.

"Have I?"

"Yeah, 'specially considering I could pick you up and throw you thirty yards. One-handed."

"You could _not."_

"I bet you I could. You're tiny."

"Not as tiny as your babby nose."

"That's it, I'm chuckin' you."

"You're not!" Nano cried, breaking into a run.

"It's for science!" Lalna called, chasing after her.

She shrieked with laughter, and when he did inevitably catch her—longer legs won the day in the end—all he did was hoist her into his arms, spin her around three times, and kiss her.

* * *

 

The forcefield was the first visible part of Sick Bay, shimmering like heat haze around the main complex. It was markedly smaller than when they'd left it, doubtless to conserve power. The rest of the town, although not visibly burning, was letting off immense amounts of smoke, billowing out from massive cracks in the earth. As they drew closer, the smell of coal-fire filled the air, and the ground grew noticeably warm underfoot.

At the city limits stood a tall wooden sign. When it had been placed, it had read: CABER TOWN: NO MINING WITHOUT PERMISSION. More recently, however, someone had altered it, in hasty red paint, to say: C **HASM** TOWN: O **N  F** I **RE  S** I **NC** E **10** M **AR.**

Nano folded her arms, examining the sign critically.

"Clearly _someone's_ not happy with their totalitarian government and coal fires," she remarked.

"Should we try the radio again? Might be close enough for short-range."

"Yeah, good plan. Shall I, or d'you want to?"

"Go for it."

Nano switched on her com, keeping it to short-range so as to conserve power, and because the long-range had been dead silent for the past two weeks.

"Hallo? Ravs? Nilesy? Anyone there?"

There was a long moment of static, and then a sharp _crack_ of a connection being made.

 _"Hello?"_ Nilesy's voice was riddled with white noise, laced with worry, but it was still a relief to hear. _"Is—Nano? Is that you?"_

"Nilesy!" she cried. "Yeah, it's me and Lalna."

"Hallo," Lalna chipped in.

"We're at the city limits now. Are you all right in there? What's going on?"

 _"Oh, err . . . okay, that's great! Er, thing's've been a bit, ah, rough. Lately. But we're—"_ He broke off for a moment with a sound like muffled pain. _"We're fine. You . . . might not want to stay. Out there. For terribly long. Don't know that the, ah, populace will take kindly to you."_

Nano frowned. "Nilesy, are you all right?"

_"Me? No, yeah, I'm—I'm fine, don't worry about me."_

"What about Ravs? Is he all right?"

 _"Oh, ahah, yes, Ravs is fine,"_ Nilesy answered, then added, through gritted teeth, _"Aren't you, Ravsy?"_

There was the low-fidelity sound of something being kicked, and a groan.

_"He's—ow—just resting, at the moment. Ahah. Keeps him out of trouble."_

Lalna and Nano exchanged a worried glance.

"Okay, Nilesy. Lalna and I will be there as soon as we can. Will you be ready to take down the force-field when we get there?"

 _"No, no no, we can't do that. It—"_ He broke off again, hissing in a breath through his teeth. _"Sorry. It takes too long to set it back up, and we've, er, had some issues. Is there some way you can, maybe, come through it? Without us having to take it down?"_

"Yeah," Lalna replied. "Have you got a security station hooked up to the projector?"

_"Err. . . ."_

He sighed. "That would explain a lot. How many multi-tools have you got?"

_"Ah, just the one. But we have got that!"_

"I'm going to need you to build two more."

_"Ah."_

"I'll walk you through it, don't worry. Tell me you've at least got supplies on hand."

_"Oh, yes, loads of supplies, more than we know what to do with, really."_

"Good. We'll walk and talk." He turned to Nano. "Watch my back while we go?"

"Gotcha. Nilesy? We'll be there in an hour, tops."

_"Okay, great! I mean, no rush, or anything. Hah."_

"Are you _sure_ you're all right? You don't sound well."

_"No no, I'm fine! Promise. Er, Lalna, you were saying about multi-tools?"_

Lalna shrugged helplessly at Nano, then started off towards Sick Bay—or, perhaps more accurately, Chasm Town—listing off supplies for Nilesy to gather.

Chewing her lip discontentedly, Nano followed after, her eyes peeled for possible hostiles.

* * *

 

By the time they arrived at the edge of the force-field, it was abundantly clear that something was wrong with Nilesy. He would, with increasing frequency, break off in the middle of sentences with muffled groans and whimpers, and his voice had grown shaky and breathless. Despite all of this, he had maintained, with considerable verve, that he was perfectly fine.

When he limped out to greet them, multi-tools in hand, it became obvious that whatever was wrong, it was _very_ wrong.

"Hallo!" he greeted them feebly, his voice slightly distorted by the field. Even through the shimmering blue veil, Nano could tell he was abnormally pale, waxen and gaunt. "So, er, how do I use these thingies again?"

Lalna opened his mouth, brow furrowed, but Nano put a hand on his arm, quieting him.

"Make sure it's in teleport-mode, then just walk through," she instructed.

"Oh. Okay. Er, how do I know what— _ow,"_ he broke off, wincing, and pressed a hand to his left side, just above his hip. "Er, what was I. . . ?"

"On the handle," Nano continued gently, "there's a little picture. It should look like a man walking through a wall."

Nilesy peered at the tool in his hand. "Er. . . ."

"The field shouldn't hurt you. Just try pushing on it with your hand, and if it doesn't work, turn the little knob at the bottom."

"R-right, right, okay," he mumbled. While he alternately placed his palm against the field and fumbled with the multi-tool, Lalna turned to Nano.

"Is it just me, or does he seem a bit off?" he inquired under his breath.

"You're an idiot," Nano retorted.

"What? 'M just wondering."

At that moment, Nilesy finally found the right setting, and stumbled through the field. He looked even worse face-to-face; he was green around the gills, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. Nano took the other two multi-tools from him before he could drop them into the sand and passed one to Lalna.

"Christ, Nilesy, you look like hell," Lalna commented.

 _"In-_ side," Nano urged, giving Lalna a push in the back. "Come on, Nilesy, don't worry about him."

"Eh?" said Nilesy, frowning. Nano took him by the elbow and led him, carefully, back through the force-field. He hissed in a pained breath with every other step.

The field tingled against Nano's skin as she passed through it, tiny sparks of energy that slid through the gaps in her atomic structure, thanks only to the small metal device in her hand. Two steps, though, and they were through to the other side, where the air was stale and the world was quiet.

"Well!" Nilesy sighed, breathlessly. "That's better."

"Sit," Nano commanded, guiding him firmly to the nearest horizontal surface. "And you're going to stay there until you tell me what's wrong with you."

Nilesy let out a short cry of pain when she tugged on his arm, and whimpered when she forced him to sit on a weather-worn chest, once again putting a hand to his side.

Lalna coughed politely. "I'll just go, ehm, check on the clones then, shall I?"

"Yeah, do that," Nano replied. Lalna saluted and hurried off, and Nano turned her focus back on Nilesy. "Now. Show me."

He attempted a sickly smile. "It, er, it wasn't so bad, at first. I just want you to know that, that I haven't been a complete, well, idiot."

She scowled. He sighed.

"Okay, but it's not pretty."

He pinched the hem of his shirt in clumsy fingers and lifted it gingerly. Nano sucked in a breath through her teeth. The entire left side of Nilesy's abdomen was badly discolored, sickly mottling that radiated outwards from a circle just above his hip. The skin was swollen, irritated, greenish in places and matte black in others.

 _"Jesus,_ Nilesy, what happened?" she exclaimed, feeling sick to her stomach.

"Ahah, well. I might've got shot, a bit. I think it was a crossbow, probably. I don't _think_ it got stuck in there, and it seemed like it was healing, but, er, then it sort of got worse and, well, never stopped getting worse."

"Why didn't you _tell_ anyone?"

"Well, er, it was around the time we lost long-range radio, on account of the, er, antenna getting torn down."

"Nilesy, that was two _weeks_ ago!"

"Was it? Hah, wow. Time flies, doesn't it."

"And you haven't taken _any_ measures to fix this?"

"Er, haven't really had any available, honestly. Sort of used up all our supplies on, er, when Ravs took a pick to the head."

"Fuck's _sake,"_ Nano cursed. "All right, Nilesy? You're going to drink every last healing potion we've got, and we're going to _pray_ I don't have to get Lalna to operate, because we haven't got any anesthesia."

"Ah. Right. Okay, that— _ow—_ that works."

Nano slung off her pack and tugged out the two glass bottles in the side pockets. They were corked firmly and contained a fizzing pink liquid, through which an occasional silver filament would swirl. She uncorked one and handed it to Nilesy.

"Drink," she directed.

Nilesy let his shirt fall and accepted the potion with both hands. He managed to down half the bottle before he was wincing in pain again, his teeth stained pink with the viscous fluid.

"It really hurts," he groaned, clutching at his side and folding over. "It _really_ hurts."

"It will do, yeah," Nano confirmed. After a moment's thought, she offered her hand to Nilesy. He took it immediately and gripped it so hard it made her knuckles crack.

"Why's it . . . hurt . . . so much?" he gasped through gritted teeth.

"Untangling scar-tissue," she guessed. "Getting rid of dead stuff."

 _"Delightful,"_ he hissed. He was so bent over that his forehead was nearly touching his knees.

"If you drink more of it, it'll go faster."

His breathing had become quick and shallow, but he managed to suck in a couple of deeper breaths before throwing back the second half of the potion. He subsequently spat most of it all over himself and Nano, convulsing in agony.

"It's all right," Nano assured him, folding him into her arms as he whimpered. "You'll be all right, hang in there, Nilesy."

"I hate you," he spat, scattering flecks of pink fluid on her shirt.

"I know you do. Just hang in there, all right?"

"Go to hell."

"Just as soon as you drink this," she promised, uncorking the second bottle and foisting it upon him.

 _"You_ drink it," he retorted, then cried out again, convulsing. Nano's heart skipped a beat.

"Nilesy," she warned, "you drink that, or I'll pour it down your throat."

"I'll take your fuckin' fingers off," he growled, gasping between every other word. Nano could see his pulse fluttering hummingbird-quick in his throat.

"You are going to die if you don't drink this," Nano informed him. "Now drink."

Snarling, he snatched the open bottle from her and chugged it. He was sweating like a stuck pig, and trembling violently. His hand had gone clammy in hers.

He managed one pained gasp, and then he toppled off the chest, face slack and eyes glazed, and started convulsing violently. Nano cursed, dropping to her knees beside him and quickly rolling him onto his side. Healing potion dribbled out between his lips and onto the sand, where it was sucked away almost immediately by the thirsty earth. Cradling his head in one hand, she pulled his shirt away with the other.

The flesh on his left side was squirming visibly, running through a rainbow of colors and vomiting out foul-smelling pus in spurts. Even as she watched, something with a sharp point pressed up against the underside of his skin, stretching it grotesquely until it broke through, spattering blood and ichor across the sand. It looked to be a steel bolt, almost four inches in length, viciously barbed and dragging tissue along with it as it was forced out of Nilesy's body. It dropped to the ground amidst a thick flow of blood, and slowly, Nilesy's trembling stilled as the wound closed. Only a minute later, he was breathing almost normally again, and his pulse had slowed to more human levels.

When she was reasonably confident the incident had passed, she let him lie on his back and propped his feet up on the nearby chest. Some clarity had come back into his vision, and his eyes were following her as she moved.

"Nano?" he croaked. She sat herself on the ground next to him and wiped the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead.

"Hiya," she replied. "That was nasty."

He considered this. "Am I dead?"

"Fortunately, no. Although it was pretty close, I think."

 _"That's_ reassuring." He frowned. "When did you get here?"

"About ten minutes ago, Nilesy."

"Oh," he remarked. "Why'm I on the ground?"

"You were in shock," she answered, "because of the arrow embedded in your side."

"Oh," he said again, "that'd do it."

"Would you like to come inside?"

He considered this. "No," he decided, "I think I like it here."

"D'you want anything? Water, food?"

"I think water would be nice."

"All right. I'm going to get you some water. Don't go anywhere, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, and sighed, closing his eyes.

Nano patted his cheek before getting to her feet. She was liberally spattered with various fluids, which were soaking through her clothes, and her body had gone weak and floaty with the aftermath of adrenaline. There was a spare bottle of water in her pack, and she loosened the cork before handing it over to Nilesy. He accepted it wordlessly, setting it on his sternum and wrapping both hands around it.

"Will you be all right for a little while? I want to go see how Lalna's getting on with the clones."

"I'll be fine," he assured her.

She turned to go, but a thought occurred to her and she paused.

"Nilesy? Where's Ravs?"

He chuckled. "Locked in the basement."

"Oh, God. Have you at least been feeding him?"

"He hasn't been there long. Only since this morning." He frowned. "Or maybe yesterday morning."

Nano sighed. "Right. Well, if you need anything, just call, all right?"

"Okay, Nano."

Shaking her head, she made her way inside on wobbling legs and drifted down to the basement. Ravs was, indeed, banging heavily on the door, threatening all sorts of violence to Nilesy and his entire family (including pets). She decided he was probably fine and moved on without announcing her presence.

By the time she got to the master-clone room, Lalna was sitting on the floor with his chin on his fist. He glanced up only briefly when she entered.

"That bad?" she asked, dropping down next to him.

"It doesn't make sense," he grumbled. "There's nothing _wrong_ with them. I've checked every last inch of them, and there's _nothing_ wrong, and it's not _working."_

"That's not good."

"It's really, _really_ not good. At this rate, we're going to have to rebuild them from scratch, and we haven't got the materials for that. _And_ we can't go out and _get_ the stuff we need, because we'll get killed." He lifted his head slightly, eyes twinkling. "Hey, d'you think they might have a nuclear reactor down here?"

"You are _not_ nuking this town."

"I didn't say anything about nuking!"

"You were thinking it!"

"Was not."

"Then why were you asking about nuclear reactors?"

"Well, honestly, because if we had that much power, we could expand the force-field far enough to set up a quarry inside. But now that you mention it—"

_"No."_

He sighed, hanging his head. "Fine. I won't nuke anything."

Nano rolled her eyes. "So. Barring nuking, what's the plan?"

Lalna shrugged. "Build up the long-range antenna and radio for help, I s'pose. Wait for Strippin and Benji to finish that railroad and bring all the pods back with us."

Cocking an eyebrow, she asked, "Seriously? You're suggesting we bunker down?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"I mean, _you_ are suggesting that."

"Why is that surprising?"

"You generally aren't much one for sitting still."

"Never said I was going to be sitting still."

"So what _are_ you going to be doing, while we wait?"

"Same thing I always do," he answered, and winked. "Science."

 


	10. Gold

It was, of course, on the first night he'd slept in six days that the golden god returned. He felt its footsteps trod upon his dreams, burning holes into his slumbering subconscious. His mind clamored to wake him, but his exhausted body would not comply, holding him like a prisoner in a cell on fire. The golden light he'd bound up inside himself—spun thread from an arrow meant to pierce his heart—shone bright in resonance with the burning footsteps, so bright that it blotted out his darkness and threatened to consume him entirely.

By the time he finally managed to claw his way to consciousness, the light had dimmed and blurred, as though dispersed between multiple points. There was still a distinct directionality to it, though, and so he paused only long enough to strap on his jetpack and slip his katar through his belt before heading out to the glass dome above the courtroom. Rain was drumming on the windows, pelting down from the jet-black skies, and Rythian was drenched by the time he made it halfway around the house.

He chose not to use the jetpack to reach the roof, preferring instead to scramble up the wooden walls and preserve his secrecy. The logs provided plenty of handholds, and months of scaling a two-hundred-foot ladder multiple times a day had given him a grip that could crush stones and enough arm strength to pull down the moon, so all in all the climb up the wall was facile.

The golden roof was slick and cold under his bare feet. Rainwater poured in sheets down its steep slopes, numbing Rythian's toes and making already uncertain footing downright treacherous.

Standing atop the glass dome, one hand on Trottimus's cheek, was the golden god, radiating power from every square inch and smiling sweetly down at Trott as he fell to his knees in obvious agony.

Hatred ignited in Rythian's chest with a palpable concussion; a  _ whoomph _ and a shockwave that splintered the underside of his skin. He flicked the jetpack on and traversed the entire span of the roof in a single leap. His feet touched down on top of the glass dome and he settled his weight onto them, wreathed in flame, glaring at the god across the short distance between them. This close, Rythian could see that the god was perfectly dry, the foppish ruffles at his throat and wrists impeccably well-kept. He was looking down at Trott with a gloating, amused satisfaction.

Rythian drew his katar as the hatred fed upon this new fuel and set his blood to boiling.

"Enough," he ordered.

For a moment, surprise registered on the god's face; but it was only a momentary flicker of expression, and thereafter his countenance settled into an easy, charming smile.

"Rythian!" he greeted jovially, nudging Trott aside with his foot as though he was no more than a burlap sack. "And here I was, thinking you were dead."

"You didn't miss it by much," Rythian responded darkly.

"Hah! Right, remind me to thank Lalna for that.  _ So _ helpful. Really."

"Ridge, I presume?"

The god winked. "Got it in one. I can only assume, from the amount of power you have wound up in there—" he gestured to Rythian in general— "that you're the one who tried fooling with my enchantments. I'm honestly impressed. I didn't design those to be survivable."

"I'm just full of surprises," he growled. "What did you do to Trott?"

Ridge shrugged. "Only what he asked me to do, nothing else. I don't go where I'm not wanted."

"Then get out."

He laughed again. "Rythian,  _ Rythian! _ We're all friends here! Trott asked me to come, and I came. He asked me for a  _ smidge _ more power, and I gave it to him." His eyes flashed, pitch-black. "And I have to ask why it is you  _ insist _ on interfering in my business. I thought you were smarter than that."

"Maybe I'm just an upstanding person," he sneered.

Ridge cocked his head to the side, frowning. Then he brightened suddenly, snapped his fingers, and tapped his temple sagely.

"Ah,  _ you've _ been talking to Lying," he concluded. "I was wondering how long it'd take them to get their grimy fingers into my business. Typical, that they'd send someone else to do their dirty work. What'd they offer you? Wait, no no, that's not their style. What'd they threaten you with?"

Rythian stared, stunned, his mind racing. He'd known that he was being played—even if the exact nature of the being controlling him had been unknown—and now it seemed he'd met the opposing player.

He could work with that.

"Lying?" he inquired carefully.

"That's the one," Ridge affirmed. "Nasty little bastard. Whatever it was they threatened you with, I guarantee they can't follow through. Sure, they might be practically unkillable, but that's about all they have going for them. C'mon, what was the threat? I'm curious."

"They didn't specify," he admitted.

"Psh. Typical, of course they didn't. So  _ dramatic." _ Ridge cranked the charm on his grin up another notch and reclined into a cushion of air, which perhaps would have been more endearing if he hadn't been using Trott's trembling body as a footrest. "Tell you what, Rythian, I'll cut you a deal. You stay out of the way until my business is concluded, and I'll give you everything you need to turn Lying into a little pile of dust if they bother you again. How's that sound?"

Rythian considered, slipping his katar back into his belt. "It sounds like bullshit," he concluded.

Ridge put a hand to his chest in mock-offense. "What! You don't think I can follow through?"

"It doesn't matter if you can," he answered levelly, "because you won't."

"Oh, Rythian, that's just not true." He put on a compassionate face, extending a hand. "Here's an idea: what would you say if I gave you a . . . trial-run, as it were? No obligations on your end. First taste is always free, you know. What would you say to that?"

"I'd say 'go to hell.'"

Ridge started, his charm rumpled. "The—what? Rythian, come on now, I'm offering you the chance to be a  _ god, _ here. Anything you want, just name it."

"I want you to leave these boys alone," Rythian declared.

Ridge winced. "Anything but that," he amended.

Rythian lifted his chin and met Ridge's eyes. "In that case: go to hell."

Frowning, he stood from his invisible chair, his feet splashing in the water gathered on the roof. He looked down at his shoes, irritated, and snapped his fingers. The rain stopped instantly. Ridge looked up at Rythian, his eyes black and cold.

"Would you like a demonstration?" he inquired. "Because I really don't think you've grasped what I'm offering."

"I'm fairly certain I have."

"This is the deal of a  _ lifetime, _ Ryth," Ridge purred. Rythian bristled at the name, but Ridge didn't give him time to interrupt. "Anything you want, whenever you want it, with just a snap of the fingers. I could give you that. And all you have to do is just . . . take a little time  _ off. _ Go on vacation. Just that, just for a measly couple of days, and you get to keep the powers, too. You're never going to get a better deal than that!"

"The answer is still no."

"Aw, Ryth, why?"

"Because you will never follow through on that deal."

Ridge's eyes narrowed. "Are you calling me a liar?" he asked softly.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing."

His smile went sharp around the edges. "Do you have  _ any _ idea who you're dealing with?"

"Again, yes," Rythian answered. As he spoke, the hatred rose in him until its flames laced his every word. "You're a schoolyard bully who never grew up. You're a spoiled pup who thinks he's a wolf. You are a pathetic,  _ frightened _ little man who's playing at being a  _ god!" _

Ridge gaped at him for a moment, stunned; and then the darkness came out of his eyes and bloomed across his face, unseating the mask with fluid ease.

"You think I'm playing?" he demanded, his voice low and venomous. "You think  _ this _ is  _ playing?" _

He flung his arms out to the sides, palms turned towards the heavens; a bolt of lightning lanced down from the roiling clouds and struck him, engulfing him in blinding light and cracking the dome beneath his feet. The deafening crash of thunder slammed against Rythian like a tidal wave, nearly knocking him flat.

Ridge stood, dark amongst the blazing afterimages, clad in cybernetic black armor and holding an obsidian-bladed sword in each outstretched hand. He grinned.

"I'm a  _ god, _ Rythian," he boasted. "Now  _ kneel." _

He felt the word clench around his heart with an iron grip, felt it kick the back of his knees and drive blades into his spine. He staggered, but he did not kneel.

The unguarded look of shock flickered across Ridge's face again, and then his lip curled and his fists clenched, sending blue-white sparks skittering up and down the length of his swords.

"I said  _ kneel!" _ he commanded. The power of the word crashed down again, but this time he was braced for it, and it broke against him like a wave against a cliff.

Rythian took a step forward, and then another, never taking his eyes from Ridge's. He advanced, slowly, inexorably, and watched the fear on his opponent's face grow with every step.

"I have met gods," he stated softly, though his voice was still laced with fire. "I have bargained with Eternity and played midwife to the birth of worlds. I have lain with Winter, reveled with Madness, and I have looked into the eyes of Death. I have met gods, Ridge, and you are  _ not _ among them."

Ridge let out a wordless roar and swung for Rythian's head, closing the remaining distance between them in a single step. Rythian caught the blade in his palm and held it, and though it had bitten deep into the bones of his hand, he did not flinch. He took Ridge's other sword and tossed it aside, pulling it from a hand gone weak with shock. His eyes remained locked with Ridge's.

"You're fucking  _ insane," _ Ridge spat, his voice shaking.

"Have you ever died, Ridge?" Rythian inquired.

"No, idiot, of course not," he retorted.

"You will," Rythian assured him. "And when Death comes for you—and she  _ will _ come for you—I want you to remember every last thing you have done to these three boys. Because I guarantee you, Ridge:  _ she will." _

They stood in silence for a long moment, while blood flowed down Rythian's arm and dripped onto the cracked glass dome, while gears whirred almost audibly in Ridge's head.

He looked away, then, over his shoulder to where Trottimus was slowly uncurling.

"Congrats, Trotty. Your buddy here has just earned you an extra month." He turned his eyes back to Rythian and smirked. "Use it wisely, hm?"

Then there was a flash of golden light, and he was gone.

Rythian waited ten whole seconds before dropping to his knees, clutching at the white-hot mass of pain that had replaced his right hand. Vaguely, he could hear Trottimus shuffling over to him, and felt the man place a hand on his back.

"C'mon, mate," he muttered, his voice thick, "best get that fixed up."

Rythian nodded, rendered mute by pain, and allowed Trott to help him to his feet. Together, they made a concerted stumble back down to the ground floor. They had to use Rythian's jetpack to get them both off the roof without breaking any limbs, but fortunately it had enough thrust to carry them both together. Inside, Trott deposited Rythian on a chair in the main room and bustled off, promising to return shortly with 'stuff,' as he put it. Rythian focused his attention on keeping as much of his blood off the floor as possible.

'Stuff,' as it turned out, was a roll of white cotton, a bottle of clear liquid that smelled like regret, and a half-drunk healing potion.

"Figure we should clean it first," Trott mumbled, uncorking the bottle of clear liquid. Rythian's nose wrinkled.

"Is that alcohol?"

"Yeah, the Fuck Buddies've been brewin' it in their secret mountain lair. Smiff an' I've been nickin' it for the Mile High Club." He paused, soaking a strip of the cotton in the alcohol. "Or, we did. Got a bit too busy for drinkin', lately. Gimme your hand."

Rythian extended his injured hand, palm-up. The gash was thick with half-clotted blood, but even so, chipped bones could still be seen beneath. Trott winced in sympathy.

"Right, this's gonna hurt like a bitch," he warned, taking firm hold of Rythian's hand.

"What doesn't," Rythian grumbled, bracing himself.

The first touch of alcohol stung, and the pain only intensified with time, until he was biting his cheek to keep from crying out. Trottimus worked quickly, efficiently, but the wound continued to burn long after he'd finished his swabbing.

While he was still coping with the pain, Trott pushed the half-empty potion bottle into his uninjured hand and insisted, "Drink that."

"Don't look," Rythian responded. Trottimus dutifully turned his back, and Rythian yanked down his mask and took a long pull off of the bright pink potion. It fizzed in the back of his throat and left a lingering taste of soap on his tongue, but it set to work immediately repairing the damage to his hand, starting from the bones and working its way out. Rythian re-corked the potion bottle, tugged his mask back up, and stated, "Thanks."

Trott turned, cautiously, and eyed the potion bottle.

"You were s'posed to drink all of that."

"Didn't need all of it."

"It's not like we're runnin' low."

"Not yet."

Trott sighed, settling himself on the floor while Rythian wrapped the spare cotton around his injured hand; the potion had repaired the bone, tendon, and muscle damage, but there was still quite a sizable gash in the skin, and it didn't seem to want to stop bleeding.

"Thanks," Trott said eventually.

Rythian shrugged. "I did what I could." He cast a sidelong glance at Trott. "Did you actually call him?"

Trott flinched. "Yeah," he admitted.

"Don't do it again."

"Wasn't planning on it."

"Why did you do it in the first place?"

"I . . . I can't let anything happen to—to Ross and Smiffy. They've been through enough, and if . . . if there's any way I can protect them, I  _ have _ to do it." He looked up at Rythian, his eyes glistening. "You understand, right?"

Rythian sighed. "I do. I'm sorry I couldn't do more to help."

"Nah, mate, you did plenty. Got an extra month to build a big fuck-off robot for 'im now. Might be able to get out of it all alive, too."

Words leapt to his tongue, but he bit them back. If he concentrated on Trott, he could see the golden light burning slow holes through his insides.

"Trott," he said softly, "how much did he give you?"

"Huh?"

"Ridge. How much power did he give you?"

"Oh. Er, we've done the . . . thing . . . twice now."

"Don't do it again."

"Why not?"

"It'll only kill you faster."

Silence fell, filling the space between them like black water flooding in through the windows.

"Oh."

"I'm sorry," Rythian said again. "Just . . . mortal bodies aren't meant to hold that much power. They burn up, eventually. Ridge probably picked it up little by little over . . . decades, most likely, and used half of everything he got to—I suppose  _ fireproof  _ his insides, which is why he isn't dying."

"So why aren't you?"

Rythian sighed out a wry chuckle, even as his stomach churned. "Who said I'm not?"

Silence again, thicker and darker than before.

"How long've I got?" Trott requested, his voice squeaking through his forced calm.

Shaking his head, Rythian admitted, "I don't know. It's hard to tell. Could be ten weeks, could be ten years."

"More than a month?"

"I'd say so."

"Then it's enough," he concluded, getting to his feet.

Rythian looked up at him, startled. His face was composed into something approximating stoicism, although he was clearly shaken. Wordlessly, Rythian got to his feet and pulled Trottimus into a tight embrace, hoping he could convey all his sorrow, all his regret, all his sympathy. After only a moment, Trott returned the gesture, trembling and sniffling.

"I'm sorry," Rythian murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

Trott only shook his head, extracted himself from Rythian's arms, and made his way back to the vast, dark cavern of the courtroom.

 


	11. Power Struggle

By the time the tunnel-bore finally broke through into daylight, Benji was so exhausted that he couldn't see straight. His legs had gone numb from the thigh down, which was a mixed blessing, since every other part of him  _ hurt, _ right down to the marrow of his bones. His skin was caked with dirt, his hair stiff with dried sweat. His palms were a patchwork mat of blood and blisters, and his knees threatened to give out under him with every step.

Just ahead of him, roped firmly to the back end of the tunnel-bore, was a small steel cart, intended for ferrying coal and ores through long mining tunnels. It did not contain either of those things at the moment. Instead, it was filled with Strippin, and its sides were streaked with blood.

Benji kept walking, out onto the sand, mindlessly following the tunnel-bore. He didn't even have the energy or presence to look up from his own feet until he bumped into the back of the mine-cart. When he did look up, he blinked in utter confusion, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The bore had run up against some kind of blue glass wall and was drilling fruitlessly against it. Vaguely, he could hear the sound of grinding gears.

Despair overwhelmed him, heavier than the exhaustion, and his knees buckled. He landed heavily on the sandy ground, his field of view growing narrower with each passing second. He would have cried, but there was no water left in him to cry with.

So instead, he lay down, closed his eyes, and waited to die.

* * *

 

When he came to again, he was somewhere cool and soft, with a wet rag on his forehead and bandages on his hands, and someone was trickling warm water into his mouth. He cracked his eyes open and saw only a tan and purple blur; after a few attempts, it resolved into Nano's face.

"Hey," she greeted him quietly. "Welcome back."

"Where. . . ?" he croaked.

"Sick Bay. What's left of it, anyway. You've been out for almost twelve hours."

He tried to sit up, but found himself unable. "Strippin—!"

"Shh, lie down, you're going to hurt yourself." She glanced over her shoulder, then sighed. "Benji, I'm so sorry. Strippin is . . . he was dead by the time we found you."

He stared at her. Although he'd heard the words, they seemed to hold no meaning. There was a snort from further back in the room.

"That's an understatement," Lalna commented drily. "He'd been dead two days, at least."

_ "Lalna!" _ Nano snapped, rounding on him. "Get out!"

"What? I didn't  _ do _ nuffink!"

"He's . . . dead?" Benji quavered. The words tasted foul on his tongue.

"He is," Nano admitted. "I'm so sorry, Benji."

"Oh," he said. Feeling anything was difficult—it seemed that all his internal organs had been scooped out, and nothing put back in their place. He was sure he hurt—plenty of things hurt—but then again, it could all just be a fever-dream, swirling through his last fragments of consciousness as he died in the desert. "But . . . Lalna can bring him back."

"What? No I can't."

"You did Rythian," Benji pointed out. He tried again to push himself up onto his elbows, and again failed. Something was keeping him from breathing properly, and his heart wasn't beating right. His eyes hurt. "You did."

"Yeah, but I had  _ stuff _ then. Notes, daggers, an altar, all that. Haven't got any of that here, and no way of getting it." He shrugged. "Sorry."

"But you brought Rythian back," Benji repeated, as though Lalna simply hadn't understood. His head was aching fit to burst and it felt like his lungs were filling with water.

"Fuck's sake," Lalna muttered. "Benji, I'm sorry, but I can't bring him back. I can't. Haven't got the materials, haven't got the skill."

"Does Rythian?" Nano interrupted.

Lalna pulled a face. "Why would—" he began, and then seemed to reconsider. "Er, he might. Prob'ly not, though."

"It's worth a shot though, isn't it?" she persisted. "It's better than nothing, anyway."

"Yeah, but he won't do it," Lalna stated. "So, really, no, it's not. It's worse 'cause it's like, false hope, and all."

"Rythian could fix him?" Benji asked. His heart, somehow, had recalled how to beat, although something large and heavy was lodged in his throat.

_ "Could," _ Lalna conceded, "but won't."

"If you're not going to help, you can leave," Nano informed him. She turned to Benji and said, "We're going to try. I can't make any promises, but I'll do everything I can."

"You'd better hurry," Lalna advised, "otherwise he'll rot."

"We'll take the stored clone," Nano replied, "in the tank. You can load it into a cart while I start packing."

Benji, again, tried to sit up. This time, Nano helped him, propping him up against the wall. "What'll we need?" he asked.

"Don't worry about that," she advised. "You're not exactly in traveling shape, and I think the sooner we can get this done, the better it'll be. I'll go alone, you can come along later when you're a bit stronger."

"You are  _ not _ going alone," Lalna declared.

"Fine, I'll take Nilesy with me."

"Like hell you will."

Nano turned and got to her feet, her movements slow and deliberate.

"Would you care to say that again?" she inquired softly.

"Yeah, I would. No way in  _ hell _ you're runnin' off alone with  _ Nilesy." _

"And what, pray tell, is wrong with Nilesy?"

Lalna scoffed and made an exasperated gesture. "I just—y'know what, forget it, it doesn't matter anyway."

"No," Nano maintained, folding her arms, "I'd like to know what's wrong with Nilesy."

"Look,  _ I _ could go with you, how's that?"

"You have to stay and keep the force-field up, not to mention maintaining the clones."

"Ravs can do that."

"Clearly he can't."

"Fine, then take  _ him _ with you. Take  _ anyone _ but Nilesy."

"Why?" she insisted.

"Look, it's—forget it, go  _ pack _ or whatever."

"Lalna," she warned, "explain. Now, please."

His jaw clenched, and he looked for a moment as though he would start breaking things; but instead he sagged, looked away, and admitted, "He took Rythian. I don't want him taking you, too."

"Rythian  _ left," _ Nano snapped, her voice barbed. "And if I leave, Lalna, that will be my  _ choice. _ No one will  _ take _ me."

"That's not—that isn't what I meant!" Lalna objected, pleading. "I just don't want to . . . lose you, is all."

"I'm not yours to lose," she retorted. "Now get out of my hospital room."

He stood still for a moment, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

"Take care, I guess," he croaked eventually.

"You too," Nano replied. "I'll see you soon.  _ Out." _

Lalna sagged even further and shuffled out of the room. Nano dropped back onto Benji's bedside like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Sorry," she murmured, her voice thick.

"Don't," he replied. "Just get Strippin back? Please? Just . . . just don't let him. . . ."

Nano put her hand over his. She was crying, and Benji wished there was enough water in him to allow him to do the same.

* * *

 

Even in his hazy, unfocused state of mind, Benji was able to pick up on the change in the atmosphere of the complex after Nano and Nilesy departed. Ravs would visit him several times a day—often intoxicated by noon, and always getting drunker as the day wore on—bringing food and water and clean bandages. Lalna was entirely absent, although Benji did get the distinct impression that his recurring dream of being observed in the darkest hours of the night had more than a grain of truth to it.

After only a week, he'd convalesced enough to get out of bed and walk around a little. He was weak, and had trouble focusing his eyes, but it felt good to get up and move again—provided he didn't think about Strippin, because every time he did, he felt so sick with dread and worry that he had to lie down for several hours. As time passed, he wandered farther throughout the complex, usually for lack of anything else to do. Ravs, evidently aware that his tour of duty as nurse was over, had become a permanent fixture behind the bar, generally unresponsive and always unhappy. Lalna was still nowhere to be found, although admittedly Benji had not investigated the master-clone room, where the lights were always on, the door was always closed, and a disturbing variety of noises could be heard at all hours of day or night.

On the tenth day after his arrival, just before sunset, Benji made his way to the bar and settled on one of the hastily-constructed stools. The room was dark, growing darker all the time, since the only source of illumination—other than the copious windows and skylights—was a single lamp hanging above the bar.

Ravs, at his station as always, looked up at Benji with bloodshot eyes.

"Want sommat?" he drawled.

"What've you got?"

"Beer," Ravs answered. "'S made of squid juice. Get you drunk, though."

Benji sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "Yeah, all right. I'm bored enough."

Ravs nodded sagely, filling a large mug with foaming brown liquid from a tap. He set it down in front of Benji and inquired, "Want to talk about it?"

"No," he said, and sipped his beer. It was terrible. He changed tack and slugged down as much of it as he could stand. "Any word?"

"Not a peep. Whatever that mad bastard's doin', it ain't fixed the antenna."

Benji grunted and drank some more. "Seen him lately?"

"No, and God willin', I won't." Ravs pulled a second mug from under the bar and filled it, then drained it halfway in one long quaff. Wiping foam from his grizzled chin, he added, "And if you're lucky, neither will you."

"He in a foul mood?"

"He's mad as a fuckin' march hare, don't matter what mood he's in."

"Is he always like this?"

"Only when Nano ain't watchin'."

For a few minutes, they sat and drank in silence. From the master-clone room, there came the distant, painful sound of metal tearing.

"Think he's even  _ tryin' _ to fix the antenna?" Benji wondered.

"No."

"Should we try, then?"

"You can, if you want. Last time I went outside, I got a pick to the head and near died. Ain't goin' out again for love nor money."

"What'd you do?"

Ravs snorted and filled his mug again. "About it, or to deserve it?"

"The second one, yeah."

"Got greedy," he stated, and drank.

"That's it?"

"That's all I'm tellin'." He eyed Benji for a moment, then questioned, "What happened to you?"

Benji's stomach dropped. His hand clenched on his mug, emulating the feeling of something squeezing around his heart.

"I was an idiot," he mumbled, "and he saved me."

"Condolences," Ravs said, after a silent moment.

Benji shook his head. "Don't. I don't deserve it. 'S my fault."

"You kill him?" he demanded bluntly.

"What? No, I didn't fuckin' kill him, he's my brother!"

"Then it ain't your fault," Ravs concluded. "Condolences."

Benji was about to reply when the door to the master-clone room burst open, letting out a flood of light and noise. Barreling through it came a woman, dressed in torn clothes and caked with dried blood, her eyes wild and her pace frantic. She careened through the bar room, knocking over chairs and tables, beelining clumsily for the exit.

Then there was a sharp, electric noise, and her head evaporated.

Her body toppled, carried a few extra feet by momentum, and skidded to a halt on the rough stone floor, where it lay absolutely motionless save for the thin line of smoke meandering up from its charred neck. Benji looked to the open door, whence the shot had come.

Lalna tucked his mining-laser into a leather holster on his hip and ambled across the room to the body. He hoisted the corpse up over his shoulder and turned back towards the master-clone room. Only then did he catch sight of Ravs and Benji. His face was blank, composed; but after only a moment of expressionless staring, he smiled sheepishly.

"Wires got crossed in the door thingy," he explained. "Should have the new power-grid up and running by tomorrow, though, no worries."

"Christ," Benji breathed, his voice tight, "what the fuck're you  _ doin' _ in there?"

Lalna shrugged. "They're only testificates," he pointed out, and ambled back through the open door, the corpse still draped ragdoll-limp over his shoulder. With an innocuous pneumatic hiss, the door slid closed behind him, plunging the bar room into near-darkness again.

"Benji?" Ravs croaked.

"Yeah?"

"That ain't love nor money, and we're gettin' the  _ fuck _ out of here."

 


	12. Violence Inherent

"Nilesy!" she called, poking her head into his room. "What's taking so long?"

Nilesy looked up, startled. His hair was mussed, his glasses askew, his shirt rumpled. The room looked as though a tornado had blown through it in the not-too-distant past.

"Ah? Oh, hello! Won't be but a minute, just, ah, lost something,  _ slightly _ important, don't want to leave it here."

"Need any help looking? We're a bit short on time."

"Ahah! Hah, no, thank you, I'm fine. Although, if you could, maybe, do me a favor and go ahead and drag that first bag out to the train, that'd be fantastic."

Nano cocked an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Nilesy's look of helpless distress was reminiscent of nothing so much as the face of a lost kitten. Nano sighed.

"Fine, but if you haven't found whatever it is by the time I get back, we're going to have to leave without it."

"Oh, er, sure, sure. I'll be quick!" he promised, and immediately went back to overturning every last square inch of the room.

Nano shook her head and hefted the bag by the door over her shoulder. Her knees nearly buckled under the weight of it, and she had to drop it again instantly.

"Jesus, Nilesy, what the hell've you got in here?" she demanded.

"Eh? Oh, ah, well, that's—not really important, at the moment. Lots of water, that's probably why it's so heavy."

"You do know the ride's only a day, right?"

"Assuming everything goes to plan, sure." He flattened himself against the floor and wriggled under his bed until only his legs were sticking out. "Hope you don't mind my saying so, but I have serious reservations about this going to plan."

Hefting the bag again, she grunted, "Be lighter if it was full of bricks, ugh."

Nilesy's feet kicked idly. "Most likely, but I don't think we'd be able to drink those."

"Oh, hell with it," she grumbled, dropping the bag a second time. She took it by one of its straps and dragged it out into the corridor. She had made it about halfway to the incursion point of the rails when Lalna came around the corner and stopped in his tracks. She studiously pretended he wasn't there.

"Need any help with that?" he inquired.

"No, thank you," she replied curtly, digging in her heels and hauling the bag another yard or so.

"Do you . . .  _ want _ any help?" he hazarded.

Nano stopped attempting to move the bag any further and glared at him.

"Lalna," she warned, "take a hint."

He adopted his patented kicked-puppy look and averted his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Nano returned to her dragging attempts, and when Lalna turned and slunk away down the corridor, she kept her eyes on the bag and pretended not to notice the guilt curling around her stomach.

By the time she finally managed to settle the bag into the last cart of the makeshift train, Nilesy was hurrying out with a second bag and a look of vast relief on his face. He was also wearing a huge tabby cat over his shoulders like a shawl.

"Why couldn't  _ you _ take the big bag?" Nano demanded, leaning heavily on the cool steel while Nilesy dumped his bag into the next cart up.

"I would have!" he objected. "You picked up the wrong bag, is all."

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"Well. The thought crossed my mind." He flashed a grin at her. "I didn't want to carry it, either."

"You are the  _ worst," _ she told him. "Did you find that thing you were looking for?"

"Yep! All ready to go."

"Is the cat coming with us?"

Nilesy scoffed and scratched his tabby shawl behind the ears. It purred like an outboard motor. "Of course he is. I couldn't very well leave Mr. Cat here alone, now could I?" He turned his head and kissed the cat on the nose. The cat smacked him in the ear with its tail.

She rolled her eyes, although she was smiling. "C'mon, get in, you maniac. Sooner we leave, the sooner we'll get there."

He clambered into the second cart in the line, while Nano hopped into the first. The engine sat steaming in front of them—in its past life, it had been the core of the tunnel-bore, but had swiftly been stripped of all unnecessary accoutrements and modified to travel at a decidedly faster pace. Nano had been up most of the night making said adjustments, and was holding onto a faint—if unlikely—hope of being able to sleep for at least part of the trip. The cart just behind Nilesy was heavily laden with a cloning tank—covered and strapped down, but no less ominous for it.

"Oh,  _ well, _ this is just  _ delightful," _ Nilesy grumbled, shifting in the steel cart. "Yes, I'm sure this is going to be  _ great _ fun, twenty goddamn hours in  _ this _ thing. Just excellent. Did you upgrade to first-class without telling me? The level of comfort is just  _ incredible." _

"Oh, quit your whinging," Nano admonished, "it's not that bad."

"Now, you  _ say _ that, but in three hours, when your legs have gone numb and your back's killing you, who'll be laughing then? Hint: it'll be me."

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Nilesy," she cautioned.

"You— _ you," _ he accused, scowling. "Just start the bloody train, would you?"

Nano laughed, but all the mirth drained out of her when she caught sight of Lalna, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded. She turned her back, pretending not to have seen him, and leaned up out of her cart to put the engine in gear. It lurched forward, tossing her unceremoniously back into her cart, and then slowly began to pick up speed, chuffing out puffs of coal-black smoke.

"So, er," Nilesy mentioned, his voice gone nervous again, "how exactly are we getting through the, er, field, with the train?"

"Same way we got it in," she replied, raising her voice to be heard above the accelerating chugging of the engine. "Secondary field-generator, courtesy of Lalna."

"Oh. And is it, er, on? At the moment?"

Nano leaned out of the side of her cart to peer around the train. The secondary field-generator was situated just beside the tracks. There was a tunnel of clear air cut into the main field, lined up with the steel tracks. Nano turned and gave a thumbs-up to Nilesy. He put a hand over his heart and bowed his head. Mr. Cat started chewing on his hair.

The train sailed through the opening, continuing to pick up speed, clattering over joints in the rails. Nano turned to look back at the remains of Sick Bay shrinking swiftly behind them, her hair whipping at her face, and saw Lalna shutting off the second field-generator. He waved, and Nano was on the verge of returning the gesture when the train sped into the darkness of the tunnel and she ducked instinctively.

"Brilliant," Nilesy commented, "glad this entire trip is going to be in the goddamn dark."

"Are you going to complain the  _ entire _ time?" Nano asked. The engine, chugging along at full speed now, cast an orange glow over the both of them, although its feeble light didn't reach all the way to the tunnel walls.

"Complaining? Who's  _ complaining? _ Everything about this is delightful."

"But do you have to keep saying so?"

"Would you rather I not say anything?"

"I didn't say that, I just asked if you were going to complain the entire time."

"Well, I haven't got much else to talk about, have I."

Nano turned around in her cart and pulled her knees up to her chest, looping her arms around her shins. "You could tell me what it is you nearly had a heart-attack over."

"I—excuse me, I did not nearly have a heart-attack. I was trying to be . . . timely."

Nano raised an eyebrow. "So are you going to tell me what it was, or not?"

Wrinkling his nose, he fidgeted. Mr. Cat slid off his shoulders and down into the cart.

"It's sort of . . . personal."

"You don't have to tell me."

"No, I mean. . . . It's fine. I could, ah, use an outside opinion anyway. Especially from a—well, from a woman."

"Now I'm  _ really _ curious," she told him.

"So, erm, bit of backstory," Nilesy began. He was looking down at his own legs, where Nano assumed the cat had settled. He stuck two fingers under the collar of his shirt and fumbled around beneath the fabric for a moment before pulling out a thin gold chain. Dangling from the end of it was a crude, cat-shaped charm, also gold. "Back before she left for Cornerstone, Lom gave me this. Made it herself, I think."

_ "Awwh!" _ Nano squealed, covering her grin with her hands. "That's so  _ cute!" _

"Y-yeah?" he stammered, looking up with a nervous smile. "I ah, I thought so, too. So, ehm, I sort of . . . well, here, I'll just show you."

Leaving the cat necklace to rest outside his shirt, he fished in his pockets for a moment before presenting another gold necklace. The charm on this one was an owl in flight, delicately made and beautifully shaped.

"Oh,  _ Nilesy," _ she breathed, "it's beautiful."

"You think so?"

"Yes! She'll love it."

"Yeah? I was worried it might be a little, well, not her sort of thing. You—you really think she'll like it?"

"Haven't a doubt in my mind."

Nilesy beamed and tucked the necklace back into his pocket. "Thanks. I think Mr. Cat must've decided to play with it when I wasn't watching him. Figures, the one time I let it out of my sight. . . ." He trailed off, shaking his head, and hoisted Mr. Cat up out of the cart bottom. "You're a menace, you know that?"

Mr. Cat yowled. Nilesy kissed him on the forehead and put him down again.

Nano sighed. "God, you two are so adorable."

"Yeah? I think mostly it's Mr. Cat, he's the looker."

"You know what I meant," she admonished.

He laughed. "No no, I'm serious. He thinks Lom belongs to him. They'll run off together, if I'm not careful. It's hard to compete with Mr. Cat, you know."

"Oh, of course! I might just run off with him myself."

"Hey, you stay away from my cat."

"I'm only joking, Lalna'd go  _ mental _ if I left him for a cat."

The silence that followed was deafening. Nilesy's face had gone grave.

"What?" Nano demanded, more sharply that she had intended. "It was a  _ joke." _

"Was it?"

"I—yes! Why're you  _ looking _ at me like that?"

"Frankly, because Lalna scares the living hell out of me, and I'm concerned for your safety."

Nano gaped at him. "What? You can't be serious. Lalna wouldn't . . . he wouldn't  _ hurt  _ me, he's a  _ puppy, _ for Christ's sake!"

He regarded her seriously for a long moment. "You don't know what happened with Rythian, do you."

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much. It was  _ years _ ago. Thing's've changed." She paused, then added quietly,  _ "He's _ changed."

Nilesy looked away and shrugged. "Okay. I'll trust you to know him better than I do."

"Good," she stated, and turned around to face forwards again, into the oncoming darkness.

They did not speak again for the rest of the trip.

* * *

 

Nano woke to find that she had fallen asleep, although not nearly long enough ago for her liking. Nilesy was shaking her by the shoulder, saying something about the engine.

"Huh?" she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes.

"Just that there's light ahead, and, well, not sure if this thing ends in a wall."

"Oh. Right, the engine, right." She sat up and leaned out of her cart, pulling the lever attached to the engine. With a hideous metal squeal, the wheels locked. The sudden braking nearly flung Nano headlong into the engine, and she just managed to catch herself on the edge of the cart.

"Oh, God!" Nilesy cried. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I've got it," she assured him, sinking back into the cart as the train began to slow. "I'm going to see if we've got short-range coms online."

"Right, good plan."

She turned the com on, pressing a finger to her other ear to block out the noise of the train.

"Hello? Anybody about?"

There was scarcely a second of radio-silence before Lomadia answered.

"Nano! My God, where've you been? What happened?"

"We had to bunker down in Sick Bay—what's left of it anyway. The long-range antenna went down."

"Christ. Is everyone all right?"

"Um. No. Strippin's . . . Strippin's dead."

"Oh, God," Lomadia muttered. "What happened?"

"I don't know. Something must've gone wrong while he and Benji were tunneling down here. Got the rails finished, but . . . well. Strippin had been dead for . . . for a couple days before Benji got him to us."

"Christ, Nano, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Well, I'm . . . alive. Not hurt. Lalna's still at Sick Bay, working on the clones—we haven't got those working yet."

"You came all that way  _ alone?" _

"Not quite," Nano hedged, smiling to herself. "Could you get Rythian and meet me at Railbase HQ?"

"Sure, won't be a mo. Who've you brought with you?"

"You'll see," she promised. "See you in a bit." And she switched off her com.

"Was that Lom?" Nilesy asked, leaning forward eagerly.

"Might've been, yeah."

"You could've said so!"

"Trust me, yeah?"

He grumbled, folding his arms, but didn't push the issue.

The train came to a complete stop long before reaching the end of the tunnel, leading to a certain amount of fiddling with the control lever and a great deal of griping from Nilesy. By the time they finally stopped underneath Railbase, Lomadia was coming down the ladder bolted to the rough-hewn stone walls. Nilesy, evidently, hadn't yet seen her, because as he creakily exited his steel cart, he only continued to complain about the immense discomfort of the ride. Upon hearing his voice, Lomadia whipped around with a gasp and leapt the last six feet off the ladder. She sprinted across the open floor and flung her arms around Nilesy, who yelped like a startled kitten.

"How'd  _ you _ get here?" she demanded, holding him at arm's length, beaming.

"Took the train, didn't I," he responded, grinning just as wide.

"Why didn't you  _ say?" _

"I don't know!" he cried jubilantly, taking her hands in his own. "It's all gone clean out of my silly old head!"

Lomadia laughed, and pulled him close, and kissed him.

"We should leave them to it," Rythian murmured. Nano started—he'd seemingly materialized three feet to her left without a single sound. "I assume the big box is Strippin's?"

"Er, yeah. We can talk outside."

"That would be best." He turned and glided back to the ladder, which he scampered up without apparent effort. Nano followed with a rather less graceful gait, considering every last part of her was sore and stiff.

Outside, the air was cool, the ground still wet with morning dew. Overhead, the sky was crystal-clear and aggressively blue. Nano took a moment to stretch, glad to be out of the underground darkness.

"I know what you're going to ask," Rythian mentioned, "and the answer is no."

She glared at him, even as a pit of nausea sank in her stomach. He was leaning against a tree, arms folded, resting one foot against the dark trunk. Something was off about the color of his eyes.

"You could've at least let me ask," she reprimanded.

"You can ask," he allowed. "It's not going to change my answer."

"Rythian, please. It's Strippin, for fuck's sake. Please, bring him back."

"I can't."

She recoiled. "You  _ can't? _ What d'you mean, you can't?"

Shrugging, he replied, "I can't do it."

"If it's supplies you need, I'm sure everyone would be willing to—"

"It's not that."

"Then what  _ is _ it? Strippin's  _ dead, _ Rythian! You'd better have a bloody good excuse."

"I can't bring him back," Rythian stated, his voice infuriatingly cool. "I can't use blood magic."

"The hell you can't, you  _ invented _ it!"

He looked up sharply, then, and something in his silhouette  _ changed, _ as though the shadows around him had pulled in closer, as though his internal structure had shifted. Nano found that she had taken a step back without so much as noticing, and that her fingers were resting on the hilt of her sword.

"Let me rephrase," Rythian said, his tone unchanged. "I  _ won't _ do it."

"You  _ won't?" _ she repeated, incredulous. "You—you  _ won't? _ You selfish prick, why in the bloody hell  _ not?" _

He was silent for a long moment, as though giving her time to hear herself. A flush rose to her cheeks, but she stood tall, unflinching.

"Let me ask you a question: would you die for him?"

_ "What? _ What's that got to do with  _ anything?" _

"A good deal, in fact. Answer the question, please."

"Why's it matter? What the hell kind of question is that?"

"Answer it," he snapped. The shadows tightened around him again, just for a moment. His focus prickled like sleet against the skin of her face.

"I . . . well, I . . . no, I—I don't think I would." She rallied, insisting, "But it doesn't matter, because I don't have to, do I!"

"No," he admitted, casting his eyes skyward. "We could kill Sjin. Or Ross. Trott, Nilesy, Lomadia, maybe even Alsmiffy. Are you beginning to get the gist?"

"No! What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The price of a human soul  _ is _ a human soul," he declared, his voice gone ice-cold. "And if you try to tell me that a testificate—or anyone else—is worth any less than we are, I will do this world a favor and strike you dead where you stand."

Nano gaped at him. "I . . . that doesn't—that doesn't make sense," she stammered.

"It makes perfect sense," he retorted. "It's just sense that you don't want to hear."

"It's not  _ right!" _ Nano cried, tears welling in her eyes. It was  _ too _ fair, too cruel. It was senseless in its sensibility.

"No," he agreed, "it isn't."

Something clicked in her head, information connected with memory in a gunpowder flash.

"So  _ that's _ why you killed—" she blurted, and immediately clapped her hands over her mouth. Her heart stopped, skipping every beat in abject terror.

Rythian's expression was illegible. He pushed himself off the tree and turned to go.

"I can't bring Strippin back, Nano," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I  _ can't _ do it. Not again."

"Rythian," she croaked, trembling. Another, more dire thought had occurred to her. "Who . . . who did Lalna kill for  _ you?" _

He hesitated, then chuckled dryly.

"You say that like I'm human," he pointed out, and in the next moment was gone, vanished into the shadows without so much as a whisper.

 


	13. Final Payment

The final two days of the miraculous extra month passed in a fever-haze of anxiety. By unspoken accord, all three of them had continued to pretend to work on the massive machine even when it was clear that no further improvements could be made. The top of the thing's head could have brushed the underside of the sky-island, and its ponderous weight had sunk its feet deep into the soil.

The three slept erratically, if at all. Ross was the most often unconscious, while Trott seemed incapable of closing his eyes for longer than it took him to blink. Alsmiffy was running himself ragged trying to worry about both of them.

On the evening of the last day, Trott gathered Ross and Smiffy together in the room of the Hand, now stripped bare of all useful components, including the Hand itself. The roof had been torn down, spun out into miles upon miles of gold wire; the room was now open to the stars and littered with the detritus of their construction.

"Ready to get this over with?" Trott asked them.

Alsmiffy felt a hand brush his—he laced his fingers with Ross's without looking over.

"As I'll ever be, mate," he replied. "Ross?"

"Yeah," Ross answered softly, and there was a chilling resignation in his voice. Smiffy squeezed his hand.

"Don't say it like that," he admonished.

Trott clapped a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Mates?" he declared. "It's been a pleasure."

"Don't  _ you _ start," Smiffy snapped.

"We're not getting out alive," Ross pointed out. "Better we all go together, hm?"

"That fuckin'  _ prick _ tries anything, I'll rip his bloody throat out," he snarled.

"Smiff," Trott murmured, "just . . . don't."

Frowning, he demanded, "Somethin' you'd like to share with the class, Trott?"

"Cockpit's made for three, mate," he replied softly.

Ross giggled, bowing his head and putting his free hand over his mouth.

"Then he can go find two other dumb sons of bitches and drive the damn thing himself! Why won't he just leave us  _ alone?" _

"Let me answer your question with another question."

Trott whirled around. Smiffy's head snapped up, and Ross folded like he'd been punched in the gut. Ridge was standing in the center of the floor, one fist on his hip, surveying the room with an amused glint to his eyes. Despite this, something seemed decidedly  _ off _ about him—the skin-prickling power that usually radiated from him was lessened, and his godlike splendor had lost some of its shine. There were bags under his eyes and his hair was frizzing out of its perfect coif.

"What on  _ earth _ makes you think you've paid back even a  _ tenth _ of what you owe me?"

"Fuck off," Smiffy snarled, dropping Ross's hand and attempting to push past Trott. He didn't let him past, instead throwing out an arm to stop him in his tracks. Ridge grinned.

"Oh, come on, Trott, I want to know what he has to say."

"We've got another four hours," Trott told him, his voice carefully level.

"Which you clearly don't need. I've been letting you stall because I had other things to do."

Seething, Alsmiffy just barely managed to bite back the sharp reply on his tongue. Instead, he ground out between clenched teeth, "What d'you want?"

"Good question! I like your enthusiasm." He winked. "You're going to go find YogLabs—what's left of it—and wipe it off the face of the planet."

"That's  _ it? _ You couldn't do that yourself? Some fuckin' god  _ you _ are."

Ridge's face went dark. "Plenty god enough to make the remainder of your life very short and very,  _ very  _ painful," he pointed out.

"No, no!" Ross squeaked, before descending into another fit of giggling.

"That's . . . not gonna be necessary," Trott assured him. "Besides, if we—if any of the three of us die, you're gonna have to find a replacement pilot."

"You make an excellent point, Trott," Ridge said, brightening considerably. "And speaking of piloting, I think you three should man your stations. Time's a-wasting."

"Hang on a minute," Alsmiffy interrupted. "If we do this, are we off the hook afterwards?"

"Oh,  _ god, _ no!" Ridge laughed. "No, I'm planning to get a  _ lot _ more mileage out of you three. Provided you behave and don't annoy me into killing you."

Smiffy was about to snap out a retort, but Trott had grabbed him by the wrist and was hauling him off towards the gangplank that led from the courtroom to the top of the robot's head. Smiffy just managed to snag Ross by the collar before he was pulled away, and the two of them stumbled along behind Trott like empty cans dragged after a newlywed's car.

"Bye-bye, boys!" Ridge called. "Drive careful!"

"I'll drive a careful sword through your dick," Smiffy growled under his breath. A hand caught him by the back of the neck and the entire Hat-train was brought to a screeching halt.

"And remember, boys," Ridge murmured,  _ "I own you. _ Try not to damage my property."

There was a  _ snap _ and a rush of air, and Ridge was gone.

"Fuck everything about this," Trott grumbled, and marched off to the robot, still towing Smiffy and Ross behind him.

* * *

 

"Smiff, mate, you seein' this?"

Alsmiffy looked up from the panel of gauges and numbers that was spread beneath his fingertips. Trott was peering through the huge front window of the robot's head, staring at something far off in the blue distance.

"Nah, mate. What is it?"

"Looks like a . . . wall, maybe?" Trott guessed. "Bloody huge, whatever it is."

"Oy, Ross. Think this thing'll go any faster?"

Ross shrugged. His hand was resting on a throttle that was clearly pushed only halfway forward.

"Does it matter?"

"Don't start, mate," Smiffy pleaded. "Let's just get through this, please? Can we do that?"

"Why?" Ross inquired. "Nothing's gonna get better afterwards. Better off if we—"

"Nope, no, hush," Trottimus interrupted, shaking his head. "You don't talk like that while you're piloting the big fuck-off robot."

He shrugged again. "Whatever you say, mate."

"Right, then make this thing go as fast as it'll go. That's what I say."

"Er, Trott, not sure that's—"

The enormous mechanical humanoid lurched forward suddenly, crashing through full-grown beeches as though they were nothing more than tall grass. Every footfall left a crater in the ground and sent a shock juddering up the entire ramshackle construction.

_ "Not sure that's a good idea!" _ Smiffy finished, glaring at Trott. He had to yell to be heard over the incredible noise of the robot's running. Trott was hanging on to his control panel for dear life, eyes wide and face bloodless.

At such a headlong pace, it wasn't long before they were near enough to truly grasp the scale of the wall. It stretched all the way from one horizon to the other, rough-hewn stone seemingly ripped directly from the ground below, reaching ragged parapets up into the white-blue sky. It was half again as tall as the robot, sheer-sided and seamless. At Trott's insistence—and he did have to insist—Ross brought the robot to a halt a few giant's steps from the edifice.

"The fuck?" Alsmiffy wondered.

"Yeah, probably should've mentioned," Ridge mused. Alsmiffy nearly jumped out of his own skin. The demigod was reclining in the leftmost corner of the front window. "There's a wall in the way."

"You think?" Ross asked, stifling laughter. "You fuckin' think there might be a wall?"

"If you were just gonna show up anyway, what the hell d'you need  _ us _ for?" Smiffy demanded.

Ridge shrugged, grinning. "Grunt work. Entertainment. Plus, I figured you three could use some alone-time. I just don't like leaving questions unanswered. Especially since I have all the answers."

"And have you, in your wisdom," Trott sneered, "thought of a way to get this bloody great robot over that bloody  _ huge _ wall?"

Clicking his teeth, Ridge shook his head. "You have so little faith in me. I'm wounded, Trott."

"Feel like sharin' with the class?"

"Oh, sure. Hey Ross, do me a favor and press that big red button."

Ross frowned. "There ain't a big red button."

Ridge sat up, drifting out into the room and peering at Ross's console. "Oh, for the love of—the big  _ gray _ button, then." He glared at Trott. "It was supposed to be red."

"'Scuse me for ruinin' the aesthetic."

"Hey. Don't get snippy with me. I'll—"

The entire robot shot into the air, slamming the floor into Ridge with considerable force. Alsmiffy's neck nearly snapped with the sudden acceleration, and he felt like he was being pushed clean through the floor. Then suddenly he was floating, just for a moment, and then the robot dropped out from under him. The ceiling hit Ridge nearly as hard as the floor had.

The landing on the other side of the wall was a jarring clatter of whiplash and bruising, throwing around the occupants of the cabin like pebbles in a tin can.

It was all made worthwhile, Alsmiffy thought, simply by the sight of Ridge crashing to the floor in an undignified heap of frills and ruffles.

"A little  _ warning _ would've been nice!" Ridge snarled, glaring at Ross as he picked himself up. Blood was dribbling from his nose and he was favoring his left leg.

"Would it?" Ross inquired, grinning.

Alsmiffy glanced at Trott, who was already looking at him. Simultaneously, they braced themselves against their respective consoles.

_ "Yes, _ you ungrateful—"

Ross slammed the throttle forward, and Ridge was flung to the back of the room and into the unyielding steel wall. Alsmiffy cackled—there was so little left to lose, and he might as well enjoy what he could, while he could. Ahead of them, a desert stretched out, vast and featureless, shimmering under the heat of the sun—miles upon miles of pale, lifeless sand, the remains of a world devoured.

"I bet you think you're so  _ clever," _ he growled, picking himself up yet again. "But I know what you're trying to do, and believe me, you're going to get  _ so _ much more than you bargained for."

"Am I?" Ross inquired.

Ridge stalked over to him and dropped a heavy hand onto his shoulder. "Oh yes. See, if you'd just been  _ annoying, _ I might've killed you like you wanted. But now? Now you've  _ pissed me off. _ And I will  _ invent _ tortures on you three."

"Oy, mate? Can it." Alsmiffy instructed. "We're tryin' to work, here, and if you keep that shit up, Ross's gonna lose his fuckin' mind and kill all of us."

"A minor delay," Ridge asserted.

"Yeah, not really," Trott replied. "On account of you'll be dead, too."

Ridge scowled. His hand tightened on Ross's shoulder. "I'm a god. I can't  _ be _ killed."

Trott smiled at him, grimly. "That ain't what Rythian said."

Just for a moment, something like fear flickered across Ridge's face.

"Rythian doesn't know what he's talking about," he snapped.

"Sounded like he did to me, mate."

"Well  _ Rythian's _ not here, and I  _ am. _ So I think you should worry about what  _ I _ say."

"Maybe you're the one who should worry," Alsmiffy said softly, his eyes on his control panel.

"You shut your mouth, slime-boy. I've had just about enough of being threatened."

"Yeah? Join the club."

"Smiff, mate, drop it," Trott requested. "I think we're there."

Ross pulled back on the throttle, and Alsmiffy looked up from his screen.

Ahead of them, a monstrous tangle of Flux-colored tendrils spread across the sand, radiating outwards from a volcanic plume of roiling purple smoke that rose so high it seemed to be holding up the sky. At the base of the vaporous pillar, the ground had collapsed into itself, a vast sinkhole that dropped away deep into the earth.

"Oh, like  _ hell _ we're goin' in there," Smiffy declared.

"You won't have to," Ridge assured him, then added, "probably. The general idea is to nuke the shit out of it and bury whatever's left."

"Couldn't've done that yourself, mate?" Ross inquired.

"You guys keep  _ asking _ me that," Ridge sighed, shaking his head. "It's getting  _ really _ old."

"You keep not answering," Trott pointed out.

Rolling his eyes, he said, "Look, when I say  _ nuke the shit out of it, _ what I mean is,  _ drop a red-matter bomb in it. _ I don't know if you know what red-matter bombs  _ do, _ but they don't exactly agree with my atomic structure, i.e. I can't shut them  _ off. _ Which is why I had Trotty here put an antimatter explosive in this thing's chest. So that the act of destroying this world-eating viral plague doesn't end up eating the world  _ anyway, _ just  _ faster. _ Now will you stop asking me stupid questions?"

Alsmiffy frowned. "You trying to tell me, you're  _ saving the world?" _

"Yes, in fact. Does that surprise you?"

All three of them responded immediately, "Yeah."

"I  _ live _ here!" Ridge exclaimed. He cleared his throat and amended, "At the moment. And sand is boring."

"Boo-fuckin'-hoo," Smiffy commented. "Can we get this  _ over _ with? Please?"

Ridge looked him over for a moment, then shrugged. "All right. Sit tight, boys. I'll be right back."

And with a thunderclap of inrushing air, he was gone. At nearly the same moment, a tiny figure appeared within the boiling pillar of purple smoke, showcasing the true scale of the thing—it was twice as big and twice as far away as Smiffy had first thought.

"Too much to ask for he'll die in there?" Trott wondered.

"Think you could hit him with the bomb from here?"

"It doesn't fire."

"What?"

Trott shrugged. "It doesn't fire. There's no mechanism for it."

"So what, you're s'posed to just chuck it and hope?"

"Supposed to go down with the ship, mates," Ross asserted brightly.

"Bullshit. He ain't plannin' on killin' us, he said so. We're too much  _ fun. _ Bastard."

"Heads up, he's droppin' it," Trott interrupted.

Smiffy watched as a small black dot plummeted through the purple smoke and vanished into the enormous sinkhole beneath. There was a percussive  _ whoomph _ of air, and Ridge stood amongst them again. He was breathing heavily, sweating, and purple vapor was steaming from his clothes, angry tendrils of Flux being wiped from his skin even as they watched.

"Okay, boys," he panted, "buckle up."

Alsmiffy braced against his console. To his left, Ross leaned back in his chair and pulled his knees up to his chest. To his right, Trott sat up straight and placed his hands palms-down on either side of his control panel.

For a timeless moment, the world stood still in breathless anticipation.

It started as a low rumble, shuddering up through the robot's steel legs, making the sands dance far below. The vapors seemed to pause in their movements before rushing back down into the depthless pit beneath. The rumbling grew more intense, until the whole world was shaking with it, until Smiffy's teeth rattled in his head.

The purple-black mouth of the pit seemed to be caving in on itself, ragged bits chipping off and vanishing into the darkness; the tendrils of Flux were writhing along the sand as though scrabbling for purchase. A distant roar began in the distance, rising steadily in pitch and volume.

"Is that thing getting bigger?" Trott called, barely audible over the thunderous noise.

Ridge shook his head. He seemed pale, insubstantial; he was flickering like a bad video recording. Alsmiffy couldn't hear him, but managed to read his lips.

_ We're getting closer. _

As if to add credence to this statement, the robot began to topple forward. Ross yanked the throttle to full reverse and it staggered back, churning the sand beneath its feet. The whole world seemed to be converging on the black pit in the ground, which was even blacker than before, and was growing ever larger as it consumed everything around it. The tendrils of Flux were clearly scrambling to escape, moving like a mat of purple insects, and to no avail. Flux and sand alike, air and vapor in equal measure, were all being devoured by the terrible roaring pit.

Ridge was shaking Ross by the shoulders. It was impossible to hear anything over the deafening roar, but he looked like he was yelling at the top of his lungs. Ross was laughing. Ridge threw him out of his chair and slammed the throttle as far forward as it would go, then pointed at Trott. He was still yelling, still completely inaudible. Smiffy could no longer read his lips, and he could only hope that Trott already knew what to do.

Although there was a part of him, in the back of his mind, that was quietly praying that this would be the end of it.

_ Better we all go together. _

Trott was flipping switches, his face drawn in furious concentration. The robot plunged headlong into the yawning void of the pit, plummeting into a darkness like the end of the world. The roaring was a physical force, threatening to shake Smiffy to pieces, to turn his insides to jelly that would seep out through ruptured eardrums.

There was a flash, blinding in the darkness, and the robot slammed into something utterly unyielding. The roar rose to a howl, then a scream; Smiffy threw his hands over his ears and dove for cover under his console, unable to even hear himself crying out in terror while the world tore itself to shreds all around him.

And then there was silence.

Slowly, the sound of his own heartbeat came back to him, and then his ragged breathing. Trembling, he crawled out from under his console.

Ross was curled on the floor, hands over his ears; Trott was hauling himself upright with the help of his chair. Ridge was wiping blood from his mouth, swaying dizzily in the center of the room.

"Did it . . . work?" Smiffy croaked. His voice sounded muffled and distant through the ringing in his ears.

Ridge examined the blood on his fingers. "Yeah," he answered thinly.

"We're . . . not dead?" Ross hazarded. Smiffy could see him shaking even from twenty feet away.

"Don't look like it," Trott said. "Oy, Ridge. Got any plans to get us  _ out _ of this big damn hole?"

"Huh?" said Ridge. His eyes were glazed, and he looked oddly gray, as though clouds had obscured his inner sun. Smiffy noted that the prickling sensation of radiating power had all but vanished.

"Big fuck-off hole," Trott snapped. "How do we get  _ out?" _

"Oh," Ridge said. He shook himself, blinking, and regained some of his composure. "The red button should do the job. Gray button, sorry. But  _ warn _ me." He directed this last at Ross, who was already creeping back into his chair.

"Yeah," Ross acknowledged. "Everybody buckled up?"

Smiffy nodded. Trott nestled into his chair and braced himself. Ridge grabbed a handful of wall, the metal buckling between his fingers with a terrific screeching sound.

"All right," Ross said, and slapped the button.

Nothing happened. In the silence, Smiffy could hear a faint hissing sound, growing steadily louder.

Ross's shoulders began to shake. He folded in on himself as the manic laughter began to boil through his lips. Smiffy had just risen from his chair when Ridge yelped like he'd been burned and jumped halfway across the room, halting his flight mid-air.

Sand, pale and fine, was pouring in through the twisted hole in the wall. It was possible to see, now that he was looking, rivers of the stuff cascading over the front screen. Thin rivulets were beginning to fall from the roof, hissing down and scattering across the floor.

"Get us out of here!" Ridge cried, and there was real panic in his voice. White was showing all the way around his eyes. "Trott, get us  _ out _ of here!"

_ "You're _ the god,  _ you _ do it!" Trott retorted. The sand was pouring in faster now, the cracks in the steel hull widening under the weight.

"I can't!" Ridge squeaked. "I can't, I can't touch it!"

"Ross, hit the button again!" Smiffy snapped. Ross shook his head, breathless with laughter. He toppled from his seat and landed amongst a tide of sand. Cursing, Smiffy sprinted to his side and hauled him upright. He set him in his chair and propped him against the console.

"No, no," Ross gasped through his laughter, plucking at Alsmiffy's sleeves with feeble fingers. "Better we all go together. Let it go, hahah. Let it  _ go." _

Alsmiffy shrugged him off and brought his fist down on the gray button; once, twice, three times, until the plastic cracked under his hand. He yanked back and forth on the throttle, but the robot remained unmoving. He glared at Ridge. The demigod had plastered himself to the ceiling and was looking around with the panicked terror of a rat in a trap.

"Ridge!" Trott barked. "If we get you out of this, our debt's payed. Got it?"

"Fine, yes, fine!" Ridge blurted. "Deal!"

"Give me your fuckin' hand, you twat!" Trottimus demanded, reaching up to Ridge. Without so much as hesitating, Ridge darted down and clasped his hand. Immediately, unbelievably, Trott yanked him down and kissed him.

"What the  _ fuck?" _ Smiffy cried, his stomach churning with disgust—the feeling knotted and froze into dread when threads of brilliant golden light began to blossom on Ridge's skin and swarm over to Trott, burrowing into his face, his neck, his chest. Trott was glowing like a second sun by the time he shoved Ridge away and dropped to his knees, screaming. Smiffy tried to run to him, tried to get to his side—but Trott buried his fingers in the floor and suddenly the whole structure lurched upward, throwing Smiffy to the floor.

The sand was flooding in now, pouring through every crack and seam, piling up so quickly that Smiffy had to struggle to keep it from burying him. The robot lurched, echoing his movements, swimming upwards through the deluge of sand, clawing its way up and up and up, and all the time Trott was screaming, screaming, screaming.

The movement slowed, from a scramble to a climb to a trembling, juddering crawl, and finally ground to a halt. One steel hand reached above the edge of the enormous pit, and a sliver of white-blue desert sky could be seen through the front screen. The sand was still pouring in, still steadily and unrelentingly burying them alive.

Trott looked up at Smiffy. There was blood dribbling from his eyes, his nose, the corners of his mouth; it was even trickling out of his ears and down his neck.

"Take care of him, mate," he murmured, each word spilling over his lips in a fresh wave of blood.

Then he collapsed, and lay motionless in the sand and the spreading puddle of his own blood.

_ "No!" _ Smiffy screamed, fighting through the rising sands to Trott's side. He grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. His body was painfully hot to the touch. "Trott, don't you dare!  _ Don't you dare! _ Trottimus, you little  _ shit, _ don't you  _ dare!" _

The sand was still piling up, slower now, groaning as it settled around them. The blood had stopped flowing from Trott's body and was only seeping now, draining with the pull of gravity alone, no heartbeat to speed its progress.

"Trott,  _ please. _ You can't leave. You  _ can't _ leave. Christ, think of Ross, he'll go  _ mental! _ We need you,  _ I _ need you, you can't . . . you can't. . . ."

"Smiff."

He turned, tears glistening on his face. Ross was standing at his console, smiling sadly.

Holding a knife to his own throat.

"No!" Smiffy snapped, trying to scramble to his feet amidst the shifting sands. "Ross,  _ no!" _

"I'll see you soon, mate," Ross murmured.

Blood sprayed across the cabin. Smiffy howled, clawing his way through the waist-high sand. Ross toppled, gurgling, with blood flooding from his throat. Alsmiffy pressed gritty hands against the wound, trying in vain to stymie the flow of blood.

Ross put his hands over Smiffy's, already shaking and weak.

"'S all right, mate," he breathed, still smiling.

"It is  _ not! _ Don't you die, too! You can't,  _ you're all I have left! Ross!" _

"'S all right," he murmured.

Smiffy cried out, wordlessly, while hot blood flowed over his fingers, while the light dimmed in Ross's eyes. He clutched Ross to him, begging, praying, sobbing helplessly.

Ross died in his arms, murmuring quiet consolations until his very last breath sighed into silence.

Smiffy cradled the body against him, rocking back and forth, struck speechless, numb, and hollow by the crushing weight of grief now devouring his insides.

But slowly, wiping tears and blood from his face, he rose, and turned to face Ridge.

The demigod recoiled, then flinched again as another rivulet of sand burst from the ceiling next to him.

"All right, Smiffy," he cooed, his hands held palms-out towards him. "You're free to go. No debts owed. I'll just—be on my way, and—"

"My friends," Smiffy growled, "are dead. My  _ family _ is  _ dead. _ The men I loved are lying  _ dead _ on the ground, and you're telling me that  _ I'm _ free to go?"

"Look, all right, I can see that you're upset—" He began to back away as Smiffy stalked towards him, until he ran up against a cascade of sand that was pouring down the wall and could go no further. "A-Alsmiffy. Smiff. Listen, we can talk about this."

"No," he replied, advancing inexorably, "we can't."

"Listen—I can bring them back!" Ridge squeaked, his gaze darting around the cabin. "I can fix this, okay? I can—I can make this right!"

"Nah, mate," Smiffy answered, coming to a halt at arm's length from Ridge. "You don't have to do anythin' for me."

"I—Smiffy, listen, just let me—"

Alsmiffy grabbed Ridge by the collar and hauled him close, until their noses were almost touching.

"First taste is always free," he murmured darkly.

"Wh—no,  _ no!" _

Trembling with fury, Smiffy slammed Ridge against the wall, under the waterfall of sand. He fisted a hand in the demigod's hair and yanked his head back, as far as it would go, so that his mouth gaped underneath the torrent. Ridge thrashed, sputtering and screaming, clawing at Smiffy's arms, kicking out wildly.

Smiffy watched with pitiless determination as Ridge drowned in the sand, as his thrashing weakened and finally stilled; and then he stood unmoving, unmoved, as the body itself began to run through his fingers, dissolving into that same pale, featureless sand. He stood until there was nothing left, until the bodies were all buried and the sand had ceased to flow down.

Then he climbed his way out of the ruins of the robot, out into the heat and the silence of the desert, out where only the enormous hand reached lifeless fingers up towards the empty and uncaring sky.

And he began, mindlessly, to walk.

 


	14. 'Til Death Do Us Part

A night's sleep had done him more good than he'd thought possible—although judging by the angle of the light streaming in through the windows, it had been more of a night-and-a-half's sleep. He was thinking clearly for the first time in days, and was delighted to find that his various aches and pains had vanished overnight.

Groggily, he rose from bed and fumbled about for a clean lab coat. They were in short supply, and it took him some time to find one that was suitably pristine. His triumphant return to Cornerstone would be somewhat marred if he turned up in a bloodstained coat.

It took almost no time at all to find Ravs and Benji—they were both in the rail room, poring over the secondary field generator.

"Something wrong?" he asked. They both jumped almost a foot in the air, whirling to face him.

"No," Ravs barked, moving to stand in front of Benji. "Not a thing."

He noticed the two heavily laden backpacks resting next to the field generator and gestured to them.

"You won't need those," he told them. "Should only take an hour or so."

Ravs and Benji frowned, exchanging a glance.

"What should?" Ravs inquired.

"The flight. I told you I'd have the power thing sorted by today. Three hundred miles oughta be a cinch, really." He considered. "I mean, I haven't exactly tested the engine, or the wings, but it  _ should _ work."

"The  _ what?" _ Ravs returned, but Benji cut him off mid-exclamation.

"The flight! Right, yeah, of course. Thing is, er, Ravs and me was thinkin' we should stay behind. To look after everythin', like."

"There's not gonna be that much to look after. I mean, unless you  _ want _ to keep an eye on the testificates. Which, I guess, you could, if you wanted. We probably won't need them again after the initial fueling but—y'know what, actually, that's a good plan. In case something goes wrong. Which it probably won't, but, y'know, always nice to have a backup."

"Exactly," Benji confirmed, nodding. "And with all that extra, er, power, right? We should be able to get a long-range antenna up. Soonish. So, nothing to worry about at all!"

"Sure, right," Lalna said, his mind already dashing off to the next task at hand. "I've told you how the power thing works, right? In case you have to do maintenance or something?"

"Yep, yeah, just the other day," Ravs confirmed, looking sidelong at Benji. "We've got it. Have a good, er, flight."

Lalna paused, frowning. "You two all right? You're acting a bit . . . odd."

"We're—" Ravs began, but once again, Benji cut him off.

"Worried about Strippin," he stated.

"Oh," Lalna said, and winced. "Right. Yeah, sorry about that. I'll, ehm, I'll just be going then, shall I?"

"Prob'ly best, mate," Benji confirmed.

Lalna turned on his heel and hurried out before the embarrassed flush creeping up his body could make its way above his collar.

The ship was, he thought, pretty damn good, all things considered. It was cobbled together mostly from wafer-thin sheets of iron, since there had been nothing lighter on hand that could still bear the necessary stresses. As such, it was a clunky, heavy old bird, and took the vast majority of its buoyancy from four huge sacs of hydrogen stuffed in amongst the cargo, tied down with thick ropes in case the roof came off. The cloning chambers were bolted to the floor for much the same reason. He'd intended to use wood for the frame, but had discovered the entirety of their stored timber was shot through with millions of termite-tunnels. The remainder fueled the first stages of his power system, before he'd gotten the testificates in.

It was a clever system, and functional; eminently sustainable, highly efficient, and easily maintained. It ran the electric lights, the door-controls, the hangar doors, and all the various machinery; it had charged the aircraft's engines in a little under four hours and charged half a dozen tesseracts while he slept. The only downside, he thought, as he loaded the huge energy-cubes into the back of the aircraft and hooked them up to the inert cloning chambers, was the damn  _ noise. _

"Ah, fuck's  _ sake," _ he grumbled, hoisting the last of the tesseracts into his arms and waddling towards the airship. "Don't you ever shut  _ up?" _

The only response was further raucous yelling and kicking of cell doors. One of them spat at him.

He was quite proud of his idea of converting the Flux-energy off tainted testificates to a useable power source—and if he'd had more time to improve it, he might even have found a way to make it remove the Flux from them entirely, instead of just slurping up the energetic aura that rolled off them in waves—but he could have done with something to keep the bastards  _ quiet. _ It probably also would have been better if he hadn't purposely infected the testificates with Flux, but this was a minor issue.

"Look," he snapped, setting the final tesseract down in the ship and turning to face the wall of imprisoned testificates. "I'm going, all right? And if I come back, and you've caused any trouble, I will  _ not _ be happy."

The last sentence was lost amongst a vicious cheer. They might have always chosen to speak their own gibberish tongue, but they certainly understood him when he talked.

"Fine. Load of ungrateful  _ twits," _ he spat. He yanked down the lever that would close the rear door, and with a whine of heavy-duty servos, shut himself into blissful silence.

Heading up to the cockpit, he couldn't help but think how much of an earful Nano was going to give him about the state of the thing. There had been no plastic, no rubber, and hardly any cloth, so the vast majority of the wires were uninsulated, left to dangle with only small wooden spacers and hope preventing a massive short-circuit.

"All right," he muttered to himself, slipping into the pilot's chair—which happened to be a mine-cart with three of the sides cut off, and was likely the single most uncomfortable thing he'd ever had the misfortune to sit himself on—and cracked his knuckles. "Let's go home, Bessy. Bessy? I think I called it Bessy."

He flipped all the switches, checked all the gauges, and ensured the hangar doors were open, the force-field disabled. Wiggling the flaps, he eased the throttle forward, and the ship hummed with anticipation. He pushed a little further, and they began to roll out of the old master-clone room, out onto the sand. Bessy's hum escalated to a rattle.

"Right then, old girl. Here we  _ go!" _

With a roar, the rear thruster ignited. Lalna's head cracked against the back of his seat, and the ship leapt off the ground. Lalna whooped, then laughed, hardly able to believe he'd  _ actually _ constructed a functioning airship.

Which was, of course, when the wings tore off.

"Oh, bugger," he cursed, as the craft continued to gain altitude. "Well  _ that's _ gonna make it bloody hard to land."

* * *

 

Piloting what boiled down to a ballistic missile was less difficult than he'd imagined—he still had the tail rudders to steer with, and once he was above the clouds, there was almost no turbulence to throw him off course. He counted himself lucky that when the wings had gone, they hadn't taken the back half of the craft with them—it was a serendipitous benefit of his inability to make a lasting airtight seal on the steeply curved surface. The body of the craft was, because of this, a self-contained pressure-vessel, to which the wings had been hastily welded.

Fortunately, when forced to move quickly enough, almost  _ anything _ will fly.

Landing, on the other hand, was presenting some difficulty.

The flight had taken a little under forty minutes (a testament to how fast his makeshift missile had been forced to go), and he'd spent most of that time wracking his brain for a solution to the landing problem. He had considered most every option available to him, from attempting to soft-land on the strength of the rear thruster to bailing out entirely and letting the craft crash where it would.

In the end, he decided to go with the plan that was least likely to get him killed—which was to say, the only one where his death was anything less than  _ certain. _ He pulled his goggles down and ran through the plan one last time as the minutes ticked away. He checked his knots, shored up everything loose in the cargo-bay, and muttered off a quick prayer to anyone who happened to be listening.

The Cornerstone house was difficult to miss, even from several miles away. It floated high above the landscape, a ramshackle stone-and-wood hut that had sprawled far beyond the edges of its home island, moored to the ground below by a long wooden anchor. Lalna cut the engines the moment he caught sight of it, and the aircraft began to tip backwards almost immediately, the vast majority of its weight being centered in the cargo-bay. Leaping from his chair, he dashed back through the ship, slipping along the floor as it tilted further and further towards vertical. His feet started to lose contact with the steel plates beneath as the ship plummeted through the atmosphere—without its forward momentum keeping it horizontally aligned, its weight had dragged it into the least aerodynamic configuration possible, which in turn was causing it to drop like a stone.

Lalna caught hold of his makeshift rope harness as he began to slide down the length of the cargo-bay. When the craft took an unexpected lurch and flung him off his feet, the rope nearly tore his arm from its socket. He scrambled to the back of the cargo-bay, playing out his line, until he reached the very end. Clutching onto his harness for dear life, dangling in midair, he kicked the lever that opened the rear door.

Air rushed in, threatening to fling him to the front of the craft and rip him out of his harness. The door tore off before it was even halfway open, and Lalna was treated to a blurred whirl of a sight, land and sky spinning and tumbling dizzyingly outside. He managed to wedge himself between two of the cloning tanks before the screaming eddies caught the sliced-open hydrogen sacs and hauled them out the back of the airship.

There was a terrible lurch, and Lalna's head cracked hard against the cloning tank in front of him. His ears rang, and his vision went blurry and dim for a few terrifying moments. By the time he'd regained his wits, the craft was no longer tumbling, but was now drifting downwards, nose-first, by the tenuous aid of four giant parachutes. Lalna let out a breath—provided nothing went incredibly wrong in the next two minutes, he  _ just _ might survive the landing.

It was a tense descent, and he didn't dare to move from his spot between the cloning tanks. It wouldn't save him, if anything went wrong, but it might at least allow him to leave an attractive corpse.

When the ship crash-landed, it crumpled. The thin steel plating crushed against the ground, folding up accordion-like under the weight of the rest of the ship. Lalna was thrown from his spot, and the force of impact was so sudden and intense that he blacked out for a moment. By the time he regained his senses, the ship had come to a complete stop, and something was on fire. Unsteadily, he got to his feet and stumbled out through the yawning rear door, shading his eyes against the sun.

They were all arrayed around the crash site, crouched like frightened rabbits—Sjin, Lomadia, Nilesy, even Rythian—but Lalna had eyes for Nano and Nano alone.

He grinned and waved.

"Allo," he greeted her. "Brought the master-clones up."

"You  _ idiot!" _ Nano cried. She sprinted across the open space between them and leapt upon him. He caught her, laughing, and spun her around. She kissed him.

"Missed you, too," he said, breathless.

"You could've died!"

"It  _ did _ have wings. Wasn't s'posed to crash."

"Oh, don't you act all  _ calm _ about it, you're shaking like mad."

"It's 'cause you're so heavy. Can't—hold you—much longer—!" He allowed his knees to give way and dropped heavily to the ground, landing with Nano in his lap. He kissed her for rather longer, reveling in her smell, her warmth, the texture of her skin.

"People're watching," she scolded eventually.

"Let 'em," he responded. "I almost died, I don't give a damn."

She giggled and buried her face in his shoulder, clutching his lab coat. "You're an idiot. Probably ruined all the master-clones, too."

"Who cares? They weren't workin' anyways."

"Yeah, but Honeydew, though," she pointed out. "And Xephos too, I guess."

He frowned, then bit his lip. "I, er . . . might've left them."

"You forgot about them, didn't you."

"No. No! I just—if anything went  _ wrong, _ right? And anything  _ did _ go wrong, so I was justified!"

"I hope you didn't just leave Ravs and Benji to take care of them."

"I might've. They'll be fine, they've got the force-field."

There was the sound of a cleared throat. Nano scrambled out of Lalna's lap, and Lalna himself flushed.

Rythian's eyes were narrowed in the shape that meant he was smiling. He extended a hand.

"Dramatic entrance as always, Lalna," he commented.

Lalna grinned and took his hand, and Rythian hauled him upright.

"Thought you might like that," he responded, before turning to help Nano up as well. He kept her hand even when she was on her feet. "You being master of dramatics and all."

"Hilarious," he said dryly.

"Lalna, leave him alone," Nano admonished, her voice soft. Her hand tightened on Lalna's, and when he looked down at her, there was genuine concern on her face.

"I didn't mean nuffin' by it," he assured her, extracting his hand from hers and draping his arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, yeah?"

"I'll stop intruding, then," Rythian demurred. "I'm sure you two have a lot of catching up to do." He turned to go, hesitated, and added, "Oh, and Nano, when you get the chance, I'd like to talk with you. In private, if possible. I'll be in the House of Flowers whenever you're free."

"Oh? Er, yeah, okay. Sure."

"No rush. Just sometime today." And with an over-the-shoulder wave, he slipped off towards the main house.

The rest of the crowd, meanwhile, seemed to have dispersed, leaving Lalna and Nano alone in the wreckage of the ship.

"What was all  _ that _ about?" Lalna wondered.

She was silent, and when he looked down at her, she was pale and shaking. Lalna took her shoulders and knelt down, searching her face.

"Nano? What's wrong? What's happened?"

"I—" she began, squeezed her eyes shut. "I think . . . I don't  _ know, _ Lalna, I'm just scared. When Strippin—when I was asking him about bringing Strippin back—I think I accidentally . . . I accidentally let on that I  _ know, _ you know? About what . . . what he did? For Zoey?"

"Oh,  _ Nano," _ Lalna sighed, folding her into his arms. "I'm sure it's fine. I'm  _ sure. _ All right? Nothing's gonna happen to you. He's not gonna hurt you."

"But—but you said—"

"I know. I know what I said, but. . . ." He paused, trying to think what she would believe. "Look, I'm pretty sure he's known that  _ I _ know for, psh,  _ ages. _ And I'm still here, right? It'll be all right." A thought occurred to him, and he brightened. "Look, how about I go have a talk with him, right? I'll explain everything, get it all sorted, just to make sure."

_ "You _ will? Are you  _ trying _ to get killed?"

"Nah, he won't kill me. He talks a lot, but he won't do it for real. I mean, not when it's permanent. And if it all  _ does _ go wrong, I mean, there's still the clone, right? We can make that work."

She sniffled. "Are you sure? I could—I could go with you, just in case. Better two of us together, right?"

Shaking his head, he assured her, "It's best I go on my own. We've got an . . . understanding, sort of thing. Easier if it's just the two of us." He got to his feet and kissed the top of her head. "I'm just gonna run by our base and pick up a couple things, yeah? We know where he is, and where he's gonna be, so you can, y'know, keep an eye on the flower-house or whatever in case anything happens."

"You're  _ sure _ about this?" she asked again, her face deeply lined with concern.

"Absolutely," he replied. He leaned down and kissed her lips, gently. "And when it's all done with, we'll spend the whole rest of the evening in the hot tub, yeah?"

She smiled, wanly. "All right. Just—be careful, yeah?"

"I will. I promise."

"Kay. See you in a bit, then."

"Yep! Shouldn't be long."

And after one final kiss, he oriented himself and strode off towards the distant, secret base.

* * *

 

"All right," he mumbled under his breath, "it was round here  _ somewhere, _ I know it was. Nano better not've moved the door."

The grassy, sheltered valley was filled with sunlight and birdsong, carpeted thickly with wildflowers. Despite the aesthetic benefits, Lalna would have much preferred to have the base somewhere where a secret door was markedly easier to find—but Nano had liked it, and much as he liked to argue with her, he rarely ever had the heart to outright tell her  _ no. _

When his neck was sore from trying to spot the small seam in the ground, he gave up looking and resorted to stomping on random, likely-looking patches of ground in hopes of finding one that went  _ thunk. _

Instead, he found one that gave suddenly beneath his feet and dropped him thirty feet onto a stone floor.

He felt his right leg snap like a twig when he hit the ground, in the brief moment before pain overwhelmed clarity of mind. He clapped his hands to his broken shin, yelling out as he writhed on the ground. There was a  _ click _ and a low hum, and the room filled with blue light. Forcing watering eyes open, he found himself surrounded by a force-field, ten feet to a side, with him in the very center.

In the darkness outside its glow, a pair of violet eyes shone out like distant stars.

"R-Rythian?" he stammered, trying to get his hands and knees underneath him. His whole right leg seemed to be filling up with pain, as though the sensation was a fluid kept trapped in his bones, now flooding out through the breach. "I've—I think my leg's broken."

Rythian stepped forward, slowly. What Lalna could see of his face was blank, expressionless. He rested one long-fingered hand on a control panel set into the wall, his gaze unwavering.

"Hello, Lalna," he said softly.

"Look, this isn't  _ funny, _ all right? Just—let me out, I seriously think I've broken my leg."

"Yes, I can see that," Rythian acknowledged. "Here's how this will work, Lalna: I'm going to ask you a question. When you answer it truthfully, I will let you out. If you  _ lie _ to me. . . ." He trailed off, and his eyes narrowed. "A broken leg will be the least of your worries."

"What in the  _ fuck _ is  _ wrong _ with you?" Lalna demanded, struggling to his feet, although he kept his weight off his broken leg. "Let me  _ out!" _

Rythian looked him dead in the eyes and asked, softly, "Where's Zoey?"

Lalna's heart skipped a beat. His skin, already moist with sweat, went clammy. His bones ached with the memory of half a dozen gruesome deaths.

"Ryth—Rythian," he stammered, placing his palms carefully against the force-field, "listen, we—we can talk about this. Just . . . let me out, and we'll talk about this, all right?"

"We are talking about it," he replied easily. "Where's Zoey?"

"She . . . Rythian, you know that—you  _ know _ Zoey's not real."

Rythian pressed a button. A vicious shock drove through Lalna's palms and threw him backwards as the field flashed red. He landed hard, jarring his broken leg, and cried out.

_ "Fuck! _ Christ, what's  _ wrong _ with you?"

"Consider that a warning," Rythian instructed, unperturbed, "and answer truthfully next time."

"This is  _ mad, _ Ryth!" Lalna exclaimed, pleading. "You  _ know _ you made her up, you  _ know _ it was all just a—a role-play. This is real,  _ I'm real, _ and you're really, actually hurting me!"

"Yes," he confirmed. "And I will continue to hurt you until you stop lying to me. Where's Zoey."

_ "Zoey isn't real!" _ he insisted, trying to get to his feet again. Rythian's fingers brushed over the control panel. The glowing blue box shrank by a foot on each side. Lalna froze. The way Rythian was looking at him was cold, almost clinical. The tension of his posture belied a vast, unadulterated  _ rage. _

"You can keep lying to me, Lalna," he said, still in that perfectly calm voice, "but I will keep asking. Until I get the truth, or until you're dead. Whichever happens first."

"You have lost your  _ mind," _ Lalna croaked. Even a slight reduction in the size of his prison had him feeling nervy and claustrophobic.

"I wonder whose fault that is," Rythian mused. "Where's Zoey?"

"I've  _ told _ you," he answered, pleading. "Zoey's not real, Rythian. I can't tell you where she is because she doesn't—"

The force-field contracted rapidly around him, making him cry out and flinch. The walls and ceiling stopped when there was scarcely enough room for him to stand upright.

Rythian had not so much as blinked.

"Where's Zoey?" he repeated, patiently.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Lalna's face. The pain from his broken leg was clouding his thoughts, the adrenaline and fear making him tremble.

"I . . . don't know," he admitted eventually. "She—it was a  _ long _ time ago, Ryth. She could be anywhere by now. I—I haven't kept in touch."

Rythian's head tilted to the side. His expression had not changed one iota. Lalna found that he was holding his breath and tried to force himself to relax, to breathe.

The field flashed red again, and Lalna screamed on instinct alone, dropping to the floor and cowering away from the threat of pain.

"A different lie is still a lie," Rythian murmured.

"I'm not lying!" Lalna cried. He wished the pain wouldn't make his eyes water, although perhaps in this case it could be useful. "Rythian, I swear to  _ God, _ that's the truth! I  _ don't know _ where she is! Please, for the love of God, let me  _ out _ of here!"

"I will," he promised, "when you stop lying to me."

"I'm not! Jesus  _ Christ, _ what do you want me to say, Rythian? What the hell do I have to do to get you to  _ believe _ me?" He was begging, literally on his knees and begging, and Rythian was still watching him with that same frigid expression, that same thinly-veiled fury directing his every movement.

"You have to tell me where Zoey is," he answered simply.

"I  _ don't know!" _

The field closed in again—if Lalna hadn't already been curled on the floor, it would have forced him to assume that position, or one similar. The walls were brushing his shoulders. He was shaking, and he couldn't feel the toes of his right foot.

"I would prefer," Rythian said, "not to have to torture you."

"What d'you want me to say, huh?" he demanded, glaring up at Rythian. "I'm telling you the truth. She  _ left, _ Rythian! She  _ left you, _ and she's not coming back! She doesn't want a damn thing to do with you, and y'know what? I don't blame her!"

Rythian slammed his hand down on the control panel, the rage flooding out full-force onto his face. The field went red around Lalna. Pain seared through him, jolting him mercilessly around the inside of his tiny prison. He screamed, writhing, but every movement only pressed a different part of him against the vicious red walls.

By the time Rythian took his hand off the button, Lalna was having trouble breathing. He was trembling all over, his ears were ringing, his throat was sore from screaming. Tears were streaming down his face and he was drenched in a cold sweat.

"I will ask you again," Rythian said, returned to his icy shroud of composure.  _ "Where. Is. Zoey." _

_ "I don't fucking know!" _ Lalna snarled, slamming a palm against the unyielding blue wall. "Stop  _ asking, _ Rythian,  _ please! _ I don't  _ know, _ I've never known! Fuck's  _ sake, _ just let me  _ out _ of here!"

Rythian considered him for a long moment, and Lalna held his breath while his heart pounded in his ears.

The walls closed in again.

Lalna screamed, lashing out fruitlessly against the force-field. It closed in around him until he could barely move, until he was curled up nearly as small as he could go, every inch of him pressed hard against a wall or ceiling or floor.

"I can do this all day, Lalna," he mentioned.

"Rythian," he pled, sobbing. "Rythian,  _ please. _ Please, I don't know what you w-want, I don't know what else I can  _ say. _ She—she left, she just  _ left, _ I don't know where—"

"That's enough," Rythian interrupted. His finger was resting on the button again.

"Please," Lalna sobbed. "Ryth—God, please, don't do this. . . ."

"Lalna," he murmured. "Where's Zoey."

"I don't  _ know," _ he moaned. He could scarcely breathe, and he was shaking with the anticipation of pain.

Rythian pressed the button.

Lalna couldn't even struggle. Every part of him was so intimately in contact with the force-field that there was nowhere he could go, no way he could escape or even lessen the pain. It was burning up his brain, it was going to  _ kill _ him, Rythian was going to  _ kill _ him. . . .

"Where  _ is _ she, Lalna?" Rythian snarled, yanking his hand away from the button.

_ "She's dead, all right?!" _

Silence.

Terrible silence, absolute and heavy, pressing in around him closer than the impenetrable walls of the force-field. He glared up at Rythian through weeping eyes and spoke again, hoarsely.

"Is that the truth you wanted? She's  _ dead. _ I  _ killed _ her. To bring  _ you _ back."

Rythian stared down at him, frozen statue-still, his composure cracked open to reveal raw and bleeding horror. Lalna could see tears welling in his eyes.

Suddenly, he turned on his heel and slipped away into the darkness, his movements quick and purposeful.

"Rythian?" Lalna called. He slammed a palm against the force-field. "Rythian!  _ Rythian!" _

The trapdoor opened, letting in a momentary burst of birdsong and sunlight. A shadow slid out through it, swift and liquid and silent.

Then the door snapped closed again, and Lalna was left alone with the darkness and the humming force-field and the horrible, ravenous guilt devouring his insides.

* * *

 

It was difficult to measure the passage of time, down in that cramped, quiet space. He guessed he'd been alone in his tiny prison for something like half an hour, although really it could have been much more or much less than that. His joints were aching, his muscles stiff and sore, and the pain from his broken leg ebbed and flowed in vicious cycles, never allowing him to adjust to it.

A sudden, brilliant light shone down upon him, and he wriggled inside his tiny cell, trying to see who had entered. Although he couldn't turn his head far enough to set eyes on the newcomer, their identity became evident upon the instant.

"Oh my God, Lalna!" Nano cried, descending swiftly with the aid of a jetpack. She shrugged the cumbersome contraption off the moment her feet touched ground, and she dropped to her knees in front of him, pressing a hand to the force-field.

"Nano!" he exclaimed, placing his hand adjacent to hers. "Thank God! You've got to get me out of here, Rythian's gone mad."

"I told you!" she snapped, quickly getting to her feet again. "Where's the—"

"Behind you, to your right," he preempted, pointing to the control panel.

A pair of brilliant violet stars ignited in the darkness over her shoulder.

Lalna tried to cry out, tried to warn her, but no sound would escape his throat, tangled in the barbed-wire mess of fear and dread and guilt. Blood spattered against the force-field and slid effortlessly down its smooth sides. Lalna screamed, pummeling the wall of his prison so hard his knuckles broke, and he barely felt the pain, barely felt anything but raw terror at the crimson tableau before him.

Nano, her eyes wide with pain and shock, mouth gaping, body trembling.

Two cruel violet stars gleaming over her shoulder, attention fixed on Lalna's impotent struggles.

The red blade, slick with blood, spearing up through her stomach and dribbling her life out onto the floor.

_ "No!" _ Lalna screamed, hammering against the force-field with broken fists, tears streaming down his face. "Rythian,  _ no! _ Not her, please, God,  _ not her!" _

"How long did it take her to die, Lalna?" Rythian asked, his voice so low it was scarcely audible.

"P-please," Nano choked, fumbling to catch hold of Rythian behind her. "I—"

The blade twisted, carving a cruel crescent into Nano's flesh. She screamed, and her knees gave, but Rythian held her up, by the sword and by her hair.

_ "How long did it take her to die?" _ he snarled.

"Stop it!" Lalna begged, his voice breaking. "Take me, kill  _ me, _ it's  _ my _ fault! She didn't even  _ know, _ she's not  _ part _ of this!"

"Neither. Was. Zoey," Rythian growled, twisting the blade with each word. Nano's screams punctuated his voice. "How long did it take her to die, Lalna? Or you can watch her bleed to death for the next  _ hour." _

"I—Rythian,  _ please," _ he sobbed. "I never meant . . . it wasn't supposed to . . . God, Rythian, I'm  _ sorry, _ I'm so sorry. . . ."

He ripped the sword out and dropped her, and she collapsed, curling around the terrible wound in her belly.

"Nano! Nano, please, hang on, hang in there, all right? 'S gonna be all right, I'm gonna—I'm gonna get you out of this, you're gonna be all right."

She coughed, and blood bubbled over her lips. Her eyes were glassy, her breathing uneven.

"How long, Lalna?" Rythian asked again, and his voice was like ice.

"Nano," Lalna breathed, pressing hard against the force-field, as though he could reach her by determination alone. "Nano, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I—I love you. I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He could hardly speak past the guilt, the grief. "It's gonna be all right, Nano. I love you. It's all gonna be all right."

She shivered, wincing; but she looked at him, a naïve sort of hope in her unfocused eyes.

"I slit her throat," Lalna whispered brokenly. "She . . . barely felt a thing."

The red blade pressed against Nano's neck, smearing blood along the pale skin.

"I love you," Lalna repeated, barely managing a sound through all his tearful anguish.

The blade bit down. Blood spurted out into the darkness. Lalna sobbed, pressed desperately against the unyielding blue walls.

He watched her die, professing his love like a prayer until even the blood stopped moving.

 


	15. Signifying Nothing

It was not how he'd thought it would be.

There was no pleasure in watching Lalna fall apart, only a grim and vicious rage, unsatisfied even now, even with so much blood already on his hands. It felt like there was nothing left in him but rage—no remorse, no grief, no satisfaction—and wherever the rage ran out it left only a burnt-out shell behind. Lalna was a pathetic sight, sniveling and sobbing on his knees, professing false love to a corpse with lies spilling over his lips like slobber. His tongue only knew how to tell lies. There was no truth in the man, and Rythian had been a fool to ever believe otherwise. This cheap production of remorse, of _love,_ only served to fuel the blind fury seething in Rythian's chest.

He deactivated the force-field by plunging his katar into the control panel. The explosion of sparks that pitched the room into darkness should have been satisfying—but he could still see Lalna, curled up so small and helpless and crawling to Nano's side, cradling her lifeless face in broken hands—and there was no satisfaction in that.

"Are you beginning to understand?" he hissed, yanking his blade from the smoking ruins of the control panel. "Are you finding an _inkling_ of what you took from me?"

"Just go," Lalna murmured, and his voice was tired, resigned. "There's nothing left, Rythian. Nothing left to take from me." He shook his head, running his thumb along Nano's bloodied cheek. "It's over. I'm done. I'm _done._ I've got to live with this—without her—forever. Isn't that enough for you?"

Rythian glared down at him—at how broken he was, how ruined—and the hatred swelled so bright and hot inside him it felt like he would explode.

How _dare_ Lalna have brought him back to a world without _her._

How dare he look so lost.

"I'm not like you, Lalna," Rythian said softly. He knelt next to Lalna and took his face in his hand, making him meet his eyes. There was a hollowness there that was far too familiar, an apathy that ran so deep it couldn't even be bothered to end a pointless existence.

"Sure," Lalna sighed. One more lie rolling off his liar's tongue.

Rythian smiled, grimly, fisting his hand in Lalna's hair.

"I do have _some_ semblance of mercy."

The katar drove silken through Lalna's throat, buried effortlessly up to the hilt in his soft flesh. Apathy turned to fear, grief to panic, as Lalna clawed at Rythian's bloodied shirt, gasping for breath. Rythian rose, drawing the katar out of him, and struck down again.

And again. And again. And again.

Until Lalna stopped so much as twitching, and the katar had blunted itself on the stone beneath his mangled body.

Rythian looked down upon the corpses at his feet, the blood pooled on the floor.

An innocent woman, and an old friend, and the spilled red ink that would have written the rest of their lives.

The katar clattered to the floor, dropped from numb and trembling fingers.

Whatever rage had been left to him drained away, leaving a vast and terrible _nothing_ in its place; no triumph, no vindication, only an aching hollow that ran deeper than it seemed his body could contain.

Rythian fell to his knees, a ruin amongst his own ruination, and sobbed until his lungs gave out.

* * *

 

_-vwip-_

He did not look up.

_-vwip- -vwip- -vwip-paff-_

He buried his blood-spattered face against his bloodsoaked knees and dug his fingernails into his scalp.

_-vwipvwipip- -vwvwipvwip- -vwipvwipaff-vwipvwip-_

"Go _away,"_ he muttered, his voice all but lost from the violence of grief.

Yet still, they kept coming, filling the room with their violet lights and their strange noises, murmuring in voices of _else_ and _other,_ shivering with the passing of each other's gazes and skirting on delicate feet around the spilled blood.

"I said _leave!"_ he snarled, glaring out at them through bloodshot eyes. They shied away from him in a collective wave, trembling and skipping out through the void when he looked upon them. They did not bare their teeth, nor scream their grating alarm at the sweep of his gaze. There were half a hundred of them, at least, all murmuring lullaby-soft in alien words and tones, sounds that pricked him with hurt and loss and loneliness. He could smell them, that peculiar dry scent that so powerfully reminded him of a time so long ago—something he could almost call a childhood.

"This isn't yours," he croaked, bowing his head. "I'm not yours."

_But we,_ he felt them sigh, _we_ ** _are_** _yours._

"There's nothing for you here," he retorted, resting his forehead on his knees again. "Go _home."_

_There's nothing for you here,_ they echoed, their thoughts heavy with regret. _Come home._

He shook his head. The Void in his bones was nothing like the hollowness in his heart, and the one could not fix the other.

"There's nothing for me there, either."

_There is oblivion,_ they offered gently. _There is peace._

He thought, long and hard and cruelly, stumbling over the broken-glass memories littering the devastation of his mind.

"There's one thing left to be done," he said at last.

_We are yours,_ they promised.

Slowly, he rose, eyes downcast, the voices of the Void murmuring heartbeat-soft in his ears.

"Yes," he replied. "You are."

* * *

 

When the portal awoke, he felt it like an icicle through his heart. The eyes twisted in their stony sockets, and their collective gaze brushed over his skin like a chill breeze. He could feel the Void close behind the starry black veil, calling out to him with a hundred billion voices, plucking at his clothes with unnumbered ethereal hands.

"Oh, now don't tell me you're leaving already?"

Rythian didn't look away from the portal. Lying was somewhere to his right, out amongst the green shade of the beech trees.

"I am," he answered.

Lying clicked their tongue. "And just when things had started to get _interesting._ I'm disappointed, Rythian. I really am."

"I'd be flattered," Rythian demurred, "if I hadn't felt Ridge die three days ago."

"Oh, and wasn't _that_ glorious," they breathed, rapturous. "You should have _seen_ it, Rythian. You should have seen the look on his _face."_

"Sorry to have missed it."

"I'm sure." There was a sound of swift wind, and Lying appeared in his peripheral vision, grinning like a crescent moon. "But you understand, don't you? Why I can't let you leave."

"I understand that I've been toyed with," he stated, looking up at Lying, "and that you are not amenable to negotiation."

They laughed, high and bright like a windchime.

"Oh dear, Rythian. Did Ridge tell you that? For someone who loved games as much as he did, he was _not_ very sportsmanlike."

"Surprisingly, I figured it out on my own. I am very clever that way." Under the mask, he smiled. "And I know the aura of a witch when I see one."

Lying's smile shrank by a couple of molars. "And if I am? You're still my pet, Rythian. Nothing's changed just because you know what the leash is made of."

Sighing, Rythian shook his head and folded his arms.

"The problem with mortals," he mentioned, "is that you never know when to _quit._ You scramble for power, for immortality, and once you have it, you're still not satisfied, and so you kill each other. I do not play games, Lying."

At the mention of their name, their smile slipped clean off their face and smashed on the ground.

"I would have to agree," they said, their voice taut. "But I do wonder what makes you talk about _mortals_ as though you're not one."

"Wonder away," Rythian allowed. "I know for a fact what makes you think _you're_ not."

A different smile flashed across their face, sharp and electric and terribly full of teeth.

"Do you think you can kill me, Rythian? You can try, if you like. It's a minor inconvenience, at best."

Rythian threw his head back and laughed. _"Kill_ you? No. Not today. Not yet. You haven't earned death yet."

"Rythian," Lying purred, insinuating their way closer to him, behind him. He didn't bother turning to watch. "So confident. So full of yourself. I'll break you of that soon enough."

"Will you, now?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes," they assured him. They wrapped their arms around his waist and pressed their lips to his neck. "Such horrible things I will do to you, Rythian. Such exquisite torments—"

Rythian grabbed a handful of their hair and threw them over his shoulder, slamming their back into the edge of the portal. Their feet dipped into the silken sheet of darkness and stuck fast. Lying shrieked with laughter.

"Such violence!" they exclaimed, delighted. They grinned up at him, blue eyes sparkling in the noonday sunlight. "Going to take me home with you, Rythian?"

"Yes," he answered simply.

"I've visited before, you know. I know where the back door is."

Rythian smiled at him.

"So do I," he said, and pulled the bundle of carefully woven poppets from inside his coat.

Even through the terrible numbness, he felt a flash of dark satisfaction at the fear on Lying's face.

"Rythian," they began, placing gentle hands on his forearm, "all right. You aren't playing games. I understand."

"Yes, I can see that you do," Rythian replied, and dropped the poppets. They vanished into the starry darkness of the portal, and Lying cried out in terror.

_"No!"_ They thrashed in his grasp, but he held fast to their hair, and they only managed to slip themselves further into the yawning mouth of the portal.

"Eventually," he assured them, "those will run out. And then I will allow you to die."

They lashed out, raking his face with their nails, ripping at his skin. He calmly caught hold of their wrist and casually nudged their other hand into the portal with his foot.

"And then I'll be back," they snarled, their face twisting into a grotesque mockery of a human countenance. "And you won't be here to stop me."

"Not true," Rythian corrected. "The Void takes everything, in time. Pain. Love. Memory. It will take everything that you are and everything you ever were. _Something_ may return here, Lying. I guarantee it will no longer be you."

"You don't frighten me," Lying snapped, their teeth gnashing.

"I'm not trying to," he replied. "I'll see you soon, Lying. Goodbye."

He shoved. The furious, animalistic snarl that tore from Lying's mouth was cut into sudden silence. They vanished into the darkness without a trace.

Rythian watched the shifting surface of the portal for a long moment while the endermen gathered around him, still murmuring amongst themselves. He looked up at the sun, sliding along towards the western horizon with its infinite and unchanging patience.

"Go on without me," he murmured. "I'll be there shortly."

They did not question him. They understood. They vanished as quietly as they were able.

Rythian turned around and sat upon the edge of the portal, looking out over a vast expanse of gleaming sea, his bare feet resting warm in brilliant green grass, a soft wind tousling his hair and making the beeches whisper.

He breathed deeply, and waited for one last sunset.

* * *

 

"Hello, Lomadia." He did not even try to pretend he had not been crying. "I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"Apparently you were wrong," she replied. "What's all this?"

"I'm going home," he answered. Out over the ocean, the brilliant orange disk of the sun was just touching against the glittering horizon. "I'm not coming back."

"Not even going to say goodbye?"

He shrugged. "I didn't think you'd want to hear from me. After what I did."

"Closure is always nice."

"I suppose it is, at that. Going to see me off?"

"Thought I might, yeah."

"Would you do me a favor, and destroy the portal after me? No one will need to go there again."

"Not sure that's a decision for you to make."

"They can figure it out on their own, then. But they won't use this portal."

She sighed and settled on the stone rim next to him. She held out a small clay flowerpot, which contained a bit of fresh dirt and a single yellow daisy.

"'S from Nilesy."

Rythian stared at it for a long moment before reaching out to accept the gift with shaking fingers. Tears had sprung to his eyes again, and however much emptiness had been within him, it was all filling up with grief now.

"Thank you," he said softly.

"He would've brought it himself, but he's declared himself Lord of the Sky or some twaddle and says he isn't coming down for anything less than a cat parade. Frankly, I don't blame him."

"Why did you come here, Lom?" Rythian croaked. The tears in his eyes were blurring the setting sun, smearing colors across his vision and leaving specks of glitter in the corners of his eyes.

"To make sure you were leaving," she answered candidly.

He smiled wryly, approximating a chuckle. "That's fair."

"And to say . . . I forgive you."

Startled, he stared at her, disbelieving.

"I forgive you," she continued, "because I'm not going to let this continue. Because if you'd forgiven him, _ever,_ Nano might still be alive."

He turned away, bowing his head, and said nothing.

They sat in silence until long after the sun had set, when the colors had faded from the clouds and trillions of stars peered out from behind their grey veils.

At long last, Rythian got to his feet, holding the flower close against his chest with both hands.

"I am sorry," he whispered. He could not force any more sound through his throat. He turned to face the portal, just as cold and murmuring as it had always been.

"Rythian." She got to her feet as well, and he could see that there were tears in her eyes. "Take care?"

He nodded, fighting back sobs. "You, too. And tell Nilesy . . . tell him that I'm sorry. And that—that I'll miss him. Tell him I said goodbye."

"Yeah," she murmured, then took a deep breath. "Rythian? Why destroy the master clones? I could understand Lalna's, maybe, but . . . _all_ of them?"

Stepping up onto the edge of the portal, he turned to look at her. He smiled, regret and loneliness and grief.

"No one should have to live forever," he said softly.

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "That's not your decision to make," she told him.

"No," he admitted, "but it's done."

Lomadia sighed, wiping the tears from her face. She looked up at him and forced a smile much like his own.

"Goodbye, Rythian," she said.

He nodded, just once.

"Goodbye, Lom," he replied. He took one last look at the world—this world of light and color and vibrant life that had once been home—and silently said his farewells.

And he stepped into the darkness, and was gone.

* * *

 

The Void set him down gently, and the endermen gathered around him. They helped him out of his cumbersome mortal flesh, helped him shrug away the beloved prison he'd worn for so long. They grieved with him, pressed graceful hands to his raw skin, cooed quiet comforts to him and kissed his scars. They touched his wings and stroked his tail and built a haphazard pedestal for the strange and beautiful gift he'd brought.

She arrived on silent black wings and wrapped herself around him, folding him against her hollow body. He buried his face in her shoulder and breathed her scent, trembling and cold.

"Hello, Rythian," she murmured, and her voice was winter and night and _home._

"Hello, mother," he replied, the words of his native tongue rusted by mortal accents.

She nuzzled his head, her breath skimming over his skin.

"You're home early," she remarked, as though she could not feel his grief as clearly as she felt the ground beneath her feet.

"I am," he admitted. He could feel the Void already reaching into him, brushing against pain and guilt, joy and fear, love and memory. He welcomed it.

"And did you save the world?"

"No," he said, and the word was cold against his teeth. The others gathered around him again, slow concern in their empty hearts.

_Why?_ they wondered, reaching out to touch his strange and mortal grief.

He shook his head, curling close against his mother as the Void began to take him.

"Some worlds," he began quietly, and sighed out a laugh.

"Some worlds are just not worth saving."

 

**THE END**


	16. Epilogue

_Several Years Later_

 

Nilesy alighted in the garden, crushing a slender snowbell beneath his feet. He winced, wriggling out of his hang glider, and looked around nervously. He folded the glider up, picking his way out of the flowers like a child sneaking downstairs on Christmas morning.

_"Ahem."_

He flinched, and grinned sheepishly at Lomadia.

"In all fairness," he pointed out, "I wasn't _aiming_ for the garden."

"If you're going to stomp my flowers every time you leave, I'm going to put you in the dungeon," she threatened. She held out her hands and Nilesy took them, and she tugged him into a kiss. "Welcome home."

"You too," he replied. "I mean. Yes! I'm very welcome. Here. In my home."

Lomadia snorted and kissed him again. "Kettle's on. D'you want tea?"

"Oh, yes please."

Lacing the fingers of her right hand with his left, she turned and ambled towards the house. He kept pace with her, his unhurried steps belying the nerves fluttering in his chest.

"How're things in Chasm Town?" she inquired.

"Good! Better than you'd expect. Reconstruction's going well, and the new mayor's taken a shine to Sjin. He's in farmer heaven, setting up stuff for an entire city. Benji's got a job doing his rail thing down in the mines, and they've even let Ravs set up a bar." He frowned. "Not sure he ever gets any customers, but at least they're not trying to kill him anymore."

"That's generally a plus, yeah."

They were nearly at the house now, and Nilesy was sure his heart had been replaced by a frightened hummingbird. He stopped walking, tugging gently on Lomadia's hand, and cleared his throat. The high-altitude wind was tossing his hair into his face, and he had to wipe it away three times before he finally got it out of the way.

"Nilesy?" Lomadia asked, concern in her voice.

"Er, Lom," he began, fiddling with his fingernails. "Y'know how . . . y'know how I'm a Skylord, and all?"

"Oh, are you on about _this_ again?" she sighed, although she was smirking.

"Yeah—well, sort of. Erm, I was wondering . . . ah, that is, I wanted to ask. . . ."

She raised an eyebrow. He forced himself to breathe, and then knelt in the grass in front of her. He fumbled in his pocket for a terrifying moment before drawing out the intricate gold ring, inset with an opal the color of sunset.

"I was wondering if you'd like to be my Skylady."

Lomadia pressed her fingertips to her mouth with a tiny gasp. Tears had sprung to her eyes and her cheeks were flushed pink as roses.

"Aw, Nilesy, I— _yes!"_ she cried. He beamed, and staggered to his feet, and somehow managed to get the ring onto her finger even though his hands were shaking madly. She gripped his hand firmly, looked him dead in the eye, and added, "But I will tolerate absolutely _no_ difference in rank based on title."

"Oh, come on, now," he admonished. "I don't think anyone will devalue me just because I have a different title than you."

"You are the absolute _worst,"_ she told him.

"Yeah," he sighed, grinning. "But I'm _your_ worst."

"And don't you forget it," she instructed, and kissed him.

 

_The story will continue in **The Dead Land**_

_Coming Soon_


End file.
